Warped
by Keaalu
Summary: Grounded, split up and scattered across the globe, Starscream's trine always knew resolving the latest diaster was going to be more than just "find each other and deal out retribution". To start with, what DOES "the Collector" want with Skywarp?
1. Prologue

**"Warped"**

**Long Unwieldy Disclaimer(TM): **This story is a complete labour of love. The author neither claims nor (intentionally) implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any other character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. The story itself is © 2008 A 'Keaalu' Scott, as are the original characters who invited themselves along for the ride along the way (all of which she guesses no-one else would want anyway! ;) ) Bla bla bla, etc.

**A/N: **This little bit of nothing follows on from "Screaming Blue Murder"; I'd say 'newcomers should read that first' but it's a bit of a slog to get through that whole thing. :hrms:

I should apologise that this is not going to be anywhere near as good as my previous braindoodle, and probably a whole lot more fangirly, but I'm going to try and at least do it a _little _bit of justice. And give my own, nicely-twisted take on the idea... :bwahaha etc:

Incidentally, the prologue/teaser is supposed to be a little bit incomprehensible. If you don't get it, please bear with me... ;) And "Button" is just a nickname.

* * *

**Prologue**

"Wow," Jazz observed, not entirely necessarily, standing between the main gates to _Dave's Scrapyard_ and surveying the heaps of Decepticon-induced damage. "What a _mess_."

Great laser-gouges marred the dirt, and what had probably once been several carefully-stacked piles of carefully-sorted scrap-material now lay strewn like windblown leaves across the entire yard. Of course, _Dave's_ hadn't been the focus of Megatron's attention – it was just unfortunate collateral damage from when the tyrant attacked the leafy science park a quarter of a mile away. Bumblebee and Mirage had been dispatched to keep tabs on the tyrant while Optimus and crew reviewed Sky Spy's footage and tried to work out exactly what Megatron was after, and all had gone well until a patrolling Ramjet spotted the Minibot's brightly-coloured chassis and engaged them in a firefight, pursuing them into the scrap-yard.

In all, it was a pretty normal day for the planet's long-suffering residents, Jazz mused. At least, it was normal _now_ – barely a week went past without the Decepticons being in the news somewhere or another, and they were becoming 'OLD MEME,' as the human internet shrieked, indignantly. 'Take your metal asses to some other planet, already!'

It was the aftermath of the Decepticon attack that was unusual – it had brought a very strange report from one of the human residents. _They left one behind. I think it's lost. It's hiding out in my scrapyard. Could you come deal with it?_ So off Jazz had gone, to deal with it.

The scrap merchant stood in the doorway of his tumbledown office/shack, his arms defensively folded across his chest. "_You _sure took your time, Autobot."

_Great. It's one of those __really friendly__ humans, annoyed at the Decepticons and happy to take it out on the first machine to present itself,_ Jazz grumbled, inwardly. "Sorry, it's a fair way to travel from my base! I got here as quick as I could," he greeted, trying to at least make the effort to be friendly, offering a large hand in a handshake. "What's the problem?"

"Those crazy jets were buzzing around near here," the scrap merchant replied, irritably, not bothering to accept the invitation. "I think it was just overspill from when they hit the science park a block over, you know? Shot my place all to hell when they thought one of your guys was hiding out here!"

Jazz nodded, only half-listening as the man rambled on. He'd personally been busy in the _Ark _when Megatron and his group hit the science complex, but had heard they'd raised the Pit pretty comprehensively before finally being forced to flee by a small team led by Optimus and Ironhide. "…and?" he prompted, in a lull in the tirade. "You said they'd left one behind?"

"Oh! Yeah, that's right," the scrap merchant confirmed, almost sounding surprised that the Autobot should actually want to do what he'd been asked to do. "Little one, 'bout yay high." He waved a hand in the air roughly level with his head, by way of explanation. "I think it's been camping out here ever since. Waiting for them to come back for it, I figured?"

"Hm. Maybe," Jazz agreed, non-committally. "So where exactly are we looking?" He eased his pistol from his subspace.

"I saw it over there," the man replied, softly, pointing towards the distant corner of the yard. Two large heaps of scrap formed a sort of avenue, but it curved away and it was impossible to see what might be lurking a few yards in. "I don't think it's gone anywhere, and I've not seen it go past the gates – but then I haven't really wanted to get too close to check!"

"I can understand that," Jazz agreed, dryly. "Little Decepticons are as much trouble as big ones, half the time. All right. You stay put, I'll see if I can find it."

The man was content to remain by the office/shack. "Is there a reward for finding it?" he wondered, after Jazz's departing back.

The Autobot resisted the urge to roll his optics, and pretended to have not heard, moving down the little avenue. "All right, Decepticon. Show yourself!" he instructed, advancing between the piles of scrap. "Rumble? Frenzy! If either of you two little pains-in-the-aft are lurking in here, I'm gonna give you one chance to give yourselves up peacefully, and then I'm coming in to get you!"

From behind and to one side came a rustle and the clattery sound of dislodged metal sliding over metal. Jazz checked his grip on his weapon, and prepared himself for a firefight-

"Hello? Who you?" a little voice wondered, from behind him.

His first thought was _Oh. That's not Rumble __or__ Frenzy._

Even as the first thought was still being processed, he was spinning startledly to face the voice, caught off-guard by the thought that had immediately followed. _Primus, that's a sparkling._

Behind him, a tiny machine – smaller even than the average human and looking a little like a jumble of loosely-attached spare parts – stood between the two slumping heaps of broken metal, inspecting him. It showed absolutely no fear, the fingers of one small black hand up in its mouth, and flickered its greenish-blue optics quizzically at him.

"Well hello there," Jazz greeted, with a lopsided smile, settling to one knee at a respectful distance. He didn't think it'd spook, but then there was no point in taking risks. "Where did you spring from, little one?"

One charcoal-coloured arm swung to point up at the leftmost heap of garbage, but the bright little optics never once strayed from his own.

"What were you doing in there?" he wondered, offering his hand.

"Hiding," the same soft, feminine voice mumbled, shyly, around the fingers.

"Hiding from who? Those mean old Decepticons?"

Unexpectedly, the sparkling shook her head. "From Suishies."

_From the Squishies?_ Aside from the strange concept of feeling the need to hide from the humans – most Autobots knew the humans to be friendly to their kind – it was an unnervingly Decepticonly bit of vernacular. Jazz forced himself to maintain his smile, although the first little needlings of concern had started to prickle up his arms.

"Oh, those humans are nothing to worry about," he reassured, keeping his hand out to her. "They're friendly, so long as we're friendly to them."

Reassuringly, she finally came forwards and inserted her tiny hand into his. "Hoomings?"

"Humans. Squishies." Jazz picked her up, carefully; he didn't imagine for one minute that she'd _actually_ disintegrate, but there was something about her that gave her an aura of fragility. Perhaps it was how _small_ she was – sparklings and wars did not go well together, especially sparklings of this sort of age. "What brings you all the way out here on your own if they're so scary, huh?"

She flickered her optics, thoughtfully. "Lost," she explained, quietly, as he carried her away from the heaps of garbage. "Tol' must fine Dacker, but got los'. Suishie hoomings took, say sell! I'scape, but now don'no where am. No fix! Want to know where am!"

Her English wasn't fantastic, but at least the point was getting through. Sounded like she'd been abducted by humans who wanted to sell her, and had escaped, but now had no positional fix on her location.

"We've got some maps, back home," Jazz reassured, amused that a machine so small could be so obsessive over where it was. "We'll soon be able to get you some data on where you are, um-…" Shoot, what _was_ her name? "Say, we've not been properly introduced, have we? My name is Jazz. What's yours?"

"Name Oosie," she said, and patted a hand against her chest. "And Button."

"'Button', huh?"

She nodded, and clapped her hands.

"Come on, then, Button. We'll get you somewhere safe." He set her down on the small patch of clear ground just inside the main gates, next to the office. "There's all kinds of nasties out here."

"Nasty Suishies?" She'd already shied back against his legs, seeing the sour-faced scrap merchant watching them.

"Well, nasty anythings. All sorts of things can be dangerous if you don't know what they are, right?" _Have to make sure she gets to meet Spike sooner rather than later_, Jazz promised himself, inwardly, nudging her gently to one side so he could transform, ensuring he was between her and the 'nasty hooming'. _I figure I'll only bother giving up if she thinks __he's__ threatening._

He popped his front door open and let the grimy youngster crawl hesitantly onto his front passenger seat. "All settled in?"

She nodded, inspecting his dashboard from a distance. "Jas Autobot," she pointed out, dabbing a finger down on the red emblem on his controls.

"That's right," he agreed, cautiously, starting his engine. "Not scared of Autobots, then?" It stood to reason that an infant Decepticon would be brought up to dislike Autobots, right? But she'd only been scared of the humans. Another oddity.

"No. Ama Autobot," she explained, unexpectedly.

"_You're _an Autobot? Kinda small, ain't you?" he wondered, amusedly, peeling gracefully out of the yard and away onto the twilit streets.

Her brow creased in effort. "No, _Ama_ is Autobot," she corrected. "Ama. Maker." She frowned in concentration. "Sweeky."

Jazz tried to ignore the alarm bell that were ringing in earnest in the back of his mind. _Sweeky? Ah, nuts. This is getting more awkward by the second. _'Sweeky' was probably a corruption of 'Squeaky', and he only knew of one Autobot with that derogatorily affectionate nickname. Which would make the other parent… _Primus_. "So if Ama is an Autobot, who's Da?" he asked, anyway.

"Day Skawar!" She bubbled, excitedly. "Big, fast!"

Jazz paused at a set of traffic lights, trying to ignore the curious glances that turned his way, and mulled over the unspoken facts he now knew he'd interpreted correctly. "Well, you probably ought to keep quiet about that for now," he counselled, warily.

She pouted, but nodded, watching the humans out of Jazz's side window. "Day say same about Ama. We keep hid, be safe."

"Keep hid?" _Stay safe? Parental responsibility from __that__ particular individual seemed pretty absurd, but then so had working together_._ And 'we'? What was __that__ all about? There'd been jokes about Skywarp keeping Pulsar in a cupboard somewhere back on Nemesis, but they hadn't actually imagined he'd go ahead and __do__ it… _"Keep hid from…?" Jazz coaxed, carefully. He could get to the bottom of the whole 'we' business later.

"From Meg'ton." She wrinkled her nose. "Buckethead."

Jazz chuckled, dryly. "Well, no worries about running into _him_, where we're going…"

Button remained curled up and quiet for the remainder of the journey, watching the world flash past outside. There wasn't a lot of traffic about, but there was enough to keep her attention, particularly when the road and the railway ran in parallel for a few miles and Jazz raced a train for her.

Eventually, they slipped away from the main route onto a minor road, winding away through the trees, and finally onto what was little more than a dirt track. The _Ark_ loomed up ahead, a welcoming golden glow like firelight between the tree-trunks.

"This Jas home?" Button wondered, gazing up through her guardian's windscreen at the space-ship's immense, long-dead engines as they drew to a graceful halt in front. "_Big_. It fly?"

"Used to, a very long time ago," he confirmed, allowing her to slide out to the dusty ground before transforming back to his root mode. "It'll take _years _of work to get this bird flight-capable again."

She put her arms up to him, which was as clear a request as he needed. _Carry please. _"We get maps, fine Dacker now?" she asked, hopefully, looking sidelong at him, settling into his arms.

Jazz patted the dark head and smiled, reassuringly. "Yeah, probably," he agreed, even though he still had no idea exactly _what _the youngster had just asked. "Once I've made sure you're okay after your little adventure. And got you a bath, because you're all kinds of filthy."

"No bath," she grumbled, sourly, folding her little arms over her chest.

Inside the _Ark _it was thankfully quite dim, and quiet. A muted glow spread from beneath the curtain hanging in the door of the surveillance room, and he could hear someone moving about inside, but Jazz figured it couldn't possibly be Red Alert. The security officer would _never_ have let him march on in with this sort of new resident without blocking his path and grilling him for information. Ordinarily, probably a good thing, Jazz reasoned, but in this case he wanted to keep the little one a secret, until they'd worked out what to do with her – he knew there were a lot of Autobots who'd instantly decide it was "in the sparkling's best interest!" to bring her up the Autobot way, and indoctrinate her against the Decepticons. Again, probably not a bad thing, in any normal situation, but given that one parent probably _was_ a Decepticon… What was it humans said, something about letting worms out of cans?

"All right, maybe no bath just yet. We'll go see Ratchet, first," he told her, and boosted her up a little. "Maybe we'll be able to sort out where you belong in the morning."

"What Atchet?"

"He's our doctor. He fixes us."

"Fixer?" She brightened, very slightly. "Like Ausep?"

"Er, probably, whatever an Ausep is."

"Aunnie Ausep is fixer," she explained, earnestly. "Makes better!" Something indescribable flickered through her expression. "Need make Sta'zim better." Her optics got big and her lip wobbled. "Wan' fine Dacker," she said, quietly, and rubbed at her face. "All los'. Jas help fine?"

He gave her a sad smile; interpreting her words took a little work but he was slowly working out her wavelength. "Yeah, I figure it wouldn't hurt," he reassured. "We've got a couple of good turns to repay, anyway…"

Ratchet glanced up from a textbook as the pair entered the repair bay. "Hello, Jazz," he greeted, absently… Then double-taked. "Jazz?" For a moment he just _stared_ at the tiny body in the saboteur's arms. "Where on Earth-…"

"This is Ratchet," Jazz introduced, calmly, as the medic staggered over. "Ratch, this is Button. Think you could give her the once-over, check everything's functioning properly?"

"Well, of course-… But where did-…" Ratchet carefully extracted the sparkling from Jazz's arms, and carried her to an examination bench. She looked even smaller than she had at the junkyard, sitting in that pool of bright light while Ratchet fetched his analytical tools. "Where did you find her, Jazz? Come on, little one, lay down-… that's a good girl."

"In the scrap yard," Jazz replied, standing and watching as the medic worked. "She was what the merchant thought was a Decepticon."

Ratchet gave him a look. "Am I right in imagining he wasn't too far off the ball?" he wondered, quietly, touching a crimson finger to one of the small, blunt, triangular structures just off the sparkling's shoulders. _Winglets_.

"I couldn't possibly comment," Jazz replied, evasively, and gave his best disarming smile. "At least, not until Optimus has been told, and given us his opinion."

Ratchet grumbled, and got back to work. "Well?" he challenged again, once he was finally satisfied that apart from being filthy and low on energy, the sparkling was in perfect health. "Was she alone? Because there is _no way_ a sparkling of that developmental age should be out on her own."

"That's just it! She was. She was blending in with a big old pile of junk, and just… _appeared_." Jazz glanced to one side at the infant, which had now settled down on the sideboard – speaking of which, how the heck had she got right up there? – to watch Perceptor's tank of alien _uulu_-fish next to the doorway. "It was almost as if someone had thrown her away with the rest of the garbage."

"Is that what happened, little one?" Ratchet crouched down next to where she was sitting, head level with hers. "Someone put you there because they didn't want you any more?"

She looked sideways at him, and shook her head; those little black fingers had gone back into her mouth. She seemed shy, and more than a little bit overwhelmed. "Mus' fine Dacker," she repeated, softly. "Hoomings say help. Jas say help, also." She glanced up at him, warily. "All jus' take Oosie places. No fix. No help. Lost." She studied her fingers, and added, quietly; "Want Ama."

Ratchet gave Jazz his best _I-hope-this-won't-come-back-to-bite-us_ look. "I tell you what," the medic offered. "Would you like to get some rest first, Button? Then we'll help you do whatever it is you want to do."

She thought for a long time, then finally nodded, holding out her arms so he could pick her up. "Then we fine Dacker," she repeated, firmly, as he carried her over to one of the smaller berths, but didn't seem overly inclined to elaborate about what it meant.

Jazz watched as Ratchet got her settled; even the smallest berth completely dwarfed the sparkling. "Optimus?" He opened a channel to the Autobot's leader, quietly. "I need to talk to you."

"Of course, Jazz." Optimus sounded distracted, but had probably just been roused out of recharge. "What about?"

"Umm… in person would probably be better."

It was easy to imagine the frown on the Autobot leader's face as he processed the request. "All right," Optimus confirmed, after a moment. "Where are you?"

"Down in the repair bay, with Ratchet."

There was another pause. "I hope not because you're hurt."

"No, no, not hurt. Just… well, I don't want to discuss it over the air."

After a moment or two, the low _thud_ of heavy footfalls sounded briefly from the corridor before the door opened and admitted one very large, drowsy-looking Autobot. "So what seems to be the problem, Jazz?" Optimus wondered, going to the saboteur's side.

Jazz met his gaze for an instant, then pointed behind him. "That is."

Optimus followed the finger… and his optics visibly widened. "By Vector Sigma," he murmured, quietly. "Tell me you've roped Hound in on the joke and that's one of his holograms, and you _didn't _go follow up that lead from that human and come back with a sparkling."

"I'd love to be able to tell you that, Prime, but I know you hate it when we lie to you."

Optimus watched as Ratchet carefully hooked the charging prongs into the pickup under the infant's arm, and arranged the temperature regulators around her in the appropriate places; Button – or whatever her name was – murmured a quiet little confirmation of something, and settled, obediently. "In this case I think I'd prefer it if you _were _lying," he admitted, grimly. "Where in Primus did it come from?"

"Still trying to work it out," Jazz admitted, following Optimus to Ratchet's side. "I, ah… have some… worrying suspicions."

"If they're suspicions that'll have an impact on base security, I'd like to know about them, Jazz," Optimus warned.

"You don't think she's a _threat_, do you? I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure she's not a miniature suicide bomber-"

"No, she's probably not a threat, herself," Optimus accepted, interrupting him. "I'm thinking rather along the lines of what'll happen if her parents come looking for her. I don't want several angry Decepticons trying to drill their way through our defences to get her back." He narrowed his optics and gave Jazz a long hard stare. "Assuming that's who you think she belongs to."

"Well, I've not got it from her in so many words, but she doesn't seem to have any particular _fear_ of the Decepticons," Jazz confirmed, reluctantly. "When I found her, she was hiding – but not from the Coneheads. She said she was hiding from 'the Squishies'."

Optimus rubbed the back of his neck, tiredly. "Wonderful. I'll call a briefing. We should be making contingency plans for what'll happen when Megatron comes to fetch his little girl back-"

"That's just it," Jazz interrupted, catching Optimus' arm before the big mech could leave. "I'm not so sure Megs knows about her. She said someone told them – whoever 'they' ultimately turn out to be – to stay hidden. That if they 'kept hid', they'd be safe."

Optimus stared down at the optics that were sleepily studying him. "Is that right, little one?" he asked, gesturing an open hand to her. "You were to hide from the Decepticons?"

Button grasped one large finger, sleepily. "Jus' hide from Meg'ton," she corrected, tiredly. "Skawar say no safe. Keep hid, and we okay."

Optimus sighed, and watched her optics finally dim out into recharge. "I think," he decided, slowly, taking his hand back, "that it would be best if we were to keep her parentage under wraps – for now, at least."

Jazz made a face. "I think I agree."


	2. Chapter 1

**Warped - Chapter One**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N: **Thank you all for your confidence. :) I hope I can live up to expectation. :)

Now, onward. Wheee...!

* * *

_Cybertron, three-point-five weeks previously, comparative-Earth-time_

It had been a busy day, and Detective Sergeant Pulsar was only halfway looking forwards to getting home and collapsing into an armchair. On the one hand, it would mean work was over for the day, and she could finally defragment some of the chaff out of her stacks and begin thinking straight again. On the _other_ hand…

…right on cue, she had barely dragged her tired feet over the threshold and into the large house she shared with a few friends when there was the exulting cry of "Ama home!" and two small, exuberant bodies assaulted her legs, clicking excited greetings at her.

She sagged exhaustedly into the closest chair. "Hello you two. Hope you've been behaving yourselves," she said, too tired to do much apart from sit with her arms open and let them climb all over her.

"_Always_ behave," Slipstream reminded, rubbing cheeks with her. "We good."

"_That _is a matter of opinion," a deep voice rolled, dryly, and the Policebot glanced up to meet the sardonic golden gaze from the big female in the kitchen doorway.

"Oh, you've not been causing trouble for Auntie Sepp, again, have you?" Pulsar half-scolded, amusedly, petting the small helm that had butted up into her hand; Footloose shook her head and affected her best Look of Total Innocence. "She won't look after you any more, if you keep on being troublemakers."

'Auntie Sepp' made a dismissive noise that could have meant anything, and rolled her optics. Consultant Surgeon Forceps had been somewhat 'shoehorned' into the role of adoptive Aunt, but she was proving herself to be unexpectedly adept at handling the twins – although _that_ was probably something to do with her unwillingness to accept any of what she called 'nonsense'. She ruled with very much the velvet glove; she didn't often actually _say_ 'no', provided they at least _attempted_ to behave themselves, but once the negative ruling had been made there was no going back on it, no matter how much whining ensued.

"I don't know how much longer I can keep this up, Sepp," Pulsar sighed, quietly, giving up attempting to shoo the rambunctious pair away. "Look at them. They just don't _stop_."

"They're only pleased to see you," Forceps reassured, watching the twins vie for their parent's attention across her lap. "They'll settle."

"They're wearing me out, that's what they're doing," Pulsar corrected, wearily. "I don't know how you manage to keep pace with them."

"By not even attempting to!" Forceps vanished back off into the kitchen, clanking around with cups and flasks. "I usually let them wear each other out. They're on their second flush, by the time you get home."

Sparkling-care was very much a trial-and-error experience, right now. It wasn't that the area was _unsafe_ for sparklings, as such… just that they were such a rare occurrence that facilities for looking after them weren't so much _uncommon_ as _non-existent,_ and the closest specialist medic was literally half a world away. The war had meant that 'young' machines had to be able to stand and fight from the very instant they first came online, and that meant being built as adults, already armed and outfitted for whatever their side needed. A pre-designed cybernetic personality uploaded direct from Vector Sigma bypassed the juvenile stage they just didn't have the luxury of allowing time for, any more.

It was better for _diversity _if young minds were allowed to develop in their own way. Going to Vector Sigma and getting a "pre-designed" personality often led to some very stilted, inflexible behaviours – and there was always the risk that something unexpected would happen, and a machine would freeze up altogether. Malleable, unprogrammed little brains were a whole lot psychologically stronger – they grew into their emotions at the same speed that they learned everything else. Any new spark was analysed very early on, because spark alone would only go so far towards getting a body to function correctly, and the appropriate supportive engrams would need placing into the protoform before the spark itself was settled in. The early analysis of the harmonics had implied both would be male, and _possibly_ both fliers, although the opinion was the purplish spark would mostly take after his sire, and ultimately be a slightly exuberant little flier, and the greenish one after his dam, and be a judicious little groundling.

As should _probably_ have been expected, from harmonics derived in part from Skywarp, what _actually_ resulted were two very muddled little sparklings who almost instantly decided they were going to do the opposite of what had been expected of them.

Slipstream – who everyone had anticipated would be the flier, and was named accordingly – showed an immediate fear of heights, just like his dam, and rejected every last insignificant flight-related command in his process core. After a few tense orns where he did nothing but squeal and hide under cupboards in fright, he finally settled once he'd been refitted as a groundling, and was quite happy with his lot provided no-one made him look too hard at the sky, just in case he should fall off the world.

Footloose had a particularly dramatic transformation – not only did he have his former groundling optics continually directed skywards, he also decided that he wanted to be a femme. Gender was an even more abstract concept among sparklings than among adults – most seemed quite content to be genderless little entities for vorns, referred to in the masculine simply to get around the 'non-person' ideal that came with being called an 'it' – but Footloose was quite insistent that everyone call her 'she'.

They turned out to complement each other quite well! Footloose's enthusiasm helped to inspire Slipstream out of his dithery introspection, and in turn his thoughtful moderation counteracted his sister's tendency to leap in feet first without thinking too hard about what she was doing. Both also proved very early on that they were going to be… _handfuls_, small though they were. For Cybertronians, they were tiny – but that itself was pretty advantageous. Not only were they more resilient, as there was less mass being flung around as they tumbled their way through their early days, it also meant finding spares was easier. Footloose in particular was getting through new parts at an impressive rate of knots – aside from her periodic 'Falls from High Places', she already had a completely new lower body after experimenting with her teleport and quantum entangling herself with the furniture.

Slipstream calmed first, as ever; tucked himself under Pulsar's arm and curled into her side, quietly. By contrast, Footloose felt obliged to go through her day _in exhaustive, animated detail_ – and there was nothing too small to bypass the little femme's voracious attention. A breem passed with no slowing to the flood of words, and she seemed quite happily set to continue in the same vein for the rest of the evening until Forceps made a timely intervention.

"Hold that for Ama, Button," the big surgeon instructed, thrusting a cup of energon under the sparkling's tiny nose. "And don't you spill it!"

Exactly as predicted, Footloose lost her train of thought, and went muddled and quiet. "En'gon," she observed, mouthing the rim of the cup and trying to tilt it far enough to drink without spilling it. "For me?"

"For me," Pulsar corrected, carefully extracting the cup from her infant's fingers before its contents ended up in both their laps. "Thank you, Sepp."

"I have some?" Footloose chased the cup, curiously.

"All right, but only a little, you already have energy to spare for everyone…"

"Hm, we seem to have an infestation," a deep voice mused, and everyone looked up to find the giant figure of Superintendent Hardline framed in the doorway, his head literally brushing the lintel. "Shall I call pest control?"

Slipstream peered out from under his dam's arm and wiggled his fingers in a wave, but stayed put. Footloose was still far too full of energy; she threw herself at him, and had half-climbed half-teleported to sit on his broad shoulders almost before he realised she'd moved. "Guess, guess!" she insisted, planting her tiny hands down over his optics.

"Hm, I can't imagine," Hardline replied, drolly. "Is that… District Commissioner Boxer, I wonder? Or… I know, it must be Constable Longbeam, she has little hands."

Footloose squeaked her excitement at 'tricking' the big Policebot, and rubbed her cheek against his. "Caught you," she observed, pulling at his antennae. "Is Oosie!"

He winced as her tugging grew more energetic. "Yeah, yeah, all right, Button, time for you to get down now." He caught her by a foot and swung her gracelessly off his shoulders, and she squealed her noisy excitement as he dangled her over to her dam. "Here you are, Ama, I found something of yours."

"Thank you, Hack," Pulsar replied, dryly, accepting the energetic bundle of parts back into her lap. "Just what I always wanted…"

0o0o0o0o0

It wasn't particularly late when the comparative calm descended. Pulsar was completely out cold in the armchair, feet tucked up onto the seat, her head cricked at a painful angle and her vocaliser buzzing quietly as her body worked to assimilate her energon and recharge the most depleted components. Even Footloose had finally exhausted herself and settled into a torpor, snugged so closely against her twin that they formed an incomprehensible tangle of bright limbs in Pulsar's lap.

Hardline and Forceps were sharing the other couch, under the pretence of watching the news but not really paying it any attention. The surgeon was particularly drowsy, slumping sideways against her riot tank; he'd gathered her against his chest, mantling an arm around her shoulders. She had another night shift due at the District General, and was trying to maximise the charge she could get from her energon before heading out.

"You're quiet, tonight," she commented, softly.

"Preoccupied," Hardline confessed. "I didn't really want to talk about this in front of everyone, because we've kept Pulse out of the loop on purpose – conflict of interest – but we had a break in at the local mental health facility. Cali's hospital."

Forceps sat straighter, optics flickering a brighter gold. "Is she still there?" she wondered, urgently.

"Oh, still tucked up all cozy in her padded cell, no worries about her," Hardline reassured. "She was the first one we checked on, and she was still with her psychiatrist, didn't even know anything was going on." He sighed, tersely. "I think the maximum security wing was beyond the capabilities of the idiots who attacked, so they hit what they stood a chance of success at, and managed to spring half the minimum-security inmates from lockup. We spent all second shift rounding the patients up. Still haven't got all of them back."

Forceps gave him a wary look; he was clearly leading the conversation somewhere. "…who did you lose?"

"It's, ah… eh, well…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Deuce is among the few still unaccounted for. Overhaul's team think he might have been, ah… _enticed_ away."

Forceps groaned, softly. "And he was doing so well."

And the delivery truck _had_ been doing well, now he was off the Blue and out of the self-destructive spiral he'd got himself caught up in – still a bundle of neuroses and prone to over-reacting, but far more moderate, and actually making some proper plans for his future.

"Doesn't he have a transponder on him, somewhere?" she wondered. "Specifically for this sort of eventuality?"

Hardline _hrm_-ed, guiltily. "I, uh… think they took it off him," he admitted. "They were short of supplies, and since he's not one of the most dangerous inmates, they figured they didn't need him wearing it any more."

"…this is _not_ going to end well…"

0o0o0o0o0

Spotweld was one of the twins' favourite 'uncles' because he was just as patient with them as Forceps, and said 'no' even less than she did; he let them sit in his office and play games on his computer, while he was working in the neighbouring rooms. The one firm 'no' had (predictably) been levelled at Footloose – she had taken an intense interest in what the polymorph did for his day job and amused his patients by 'helping', until she'd found an unattended laser scalpel and wreaked no small amount of havoc with it – "…but I Seeker!" – at which point she'd been summarily banned from the surgery altogether.

Technically, the large house the all shared was Spotweld's; Forceps alone had lodged with him for a very long time, but the past few dozen orns had seen Hardline finally elect to move in, and Pulsar wasn't long after him, once the twins finally got their own casings. A shared dormitory was not the place to bring up Sparklings! The polymorph was pretty lenient about it – provided everyone chipped in towards bills and cleaning, he considered it the more the merrier! – and of course, who could dislike such bright, cheerful little sparklings? Rays of sunshine in a gloomy world.

He arrived home from his shift at Accident and Emergency to the usual scenes of chaos, and yet there was something sliightly different about it – the twins were even more overactive than usual, and almost took his feet clean out from under him as he stepped through the door.

"Whoo!" Spotweld teetered unsteadily on one leg while the two youngsters ran in agitated circles around him. "Steady, you two! What's got you so excited?"

Slipstream was first to stop orbiting. "Where Ama?" he asked, seriously, and Spotweld finally realised (with a flicker of disappointment) that they weren't so over-excited at seeing _him_, but in the anticipation their dam might be with him.

"Where's Ama?" he echoed, watching as Footloose did another quick circuit of the room, checking all the windows, and finally fetched up on the front porch, hanging over the guard rail at the end, her small optics glued disappointedly to the street. "She's not come home yet?"

"We'd hoped she'd just been too busy to answer her pings, and was with you," Forceps filled in, quietly, from the doorway to the back room, wiping her hands dry after unloading the washer.

The polymorph's lips tightened into an anxious line. "I've not seen her all day?" he replied, warily. "I know Hardline had to visit their station earlier, perhaps he'll have seen something…"

Hardline arrived home alone as usual, however, wondering why the place was so quiet. Footloose had a funny sort of floppy despondency about her when she went to say hello, as well; no greeting maul was forthcoming, and instead of _leaping_ at him, she just ambled over, arms up.

"Aw, what's got you all grumpy for, hm, Button?" Hardline wondered, picking her up; she sighed and slumped her head against his big shoulder.

"Ama los'," she supplied, quietly. "No home yet."

"Lost? Now, what has Sepp told you about putting things away so you can find them again later?" he teased, gently, and listened as she rewarded him with a quiet chuckle. "She'll be home later. She's just been working late…"

An orn later with still no sign of the sprightly little gravity-bike seeded an inkling of what was a potentially-serious problem into the minds of the local police. Chief Inspector Celerity confirmed that her officer wasn't scheduled for any investigations that would have taken her away from home for longer than a cycle or two, and dispatched Longbeam and Whitesides to check their former room-mate's old haunts. Even Spotweld had been roped into the search, by orn two, and spent several fruitless cycles checking local hospitals.

Two sad pairs of optics peeked over the back of the chair at him, when he finally got home on the third orn.

"No Ama?" Slipstream wondered, quietly.

"Still no sign, Seem," Spotweld apologised, quietly, patting both small heads as he passed. "But we're still looking for her, don't you worry."

That evening, Footloose went to bed without the slightest whisper of complaint; she burrowed under her blanket, and now all that was visible in the darkened room was the dim blue-green glow from her optics, shining out from underneath the coverlets, and even _that_ seemed… desultory. Dispirited.

Slipstream clambered up and lay in front of her for a moment or two, on his front, optics level with hers. "Lucy?" It was not his sister's way to just do as told without at least _attempting_ to string things out and stay up as long as possible.

"Want Ama," she replied, quietly, and turned her face away.

Slipstream crawled underneath the covers next to her; she sighed and wilted sideways onto his shoulder. "They find," he counselled. "Are police, can do anything."

"_Ama_ police," Footloose corrected, grumpily. "Now lost!"

Slipstream wasn't sure what to say in response to that; it was true, after all. He hummed a low, soothing harmonic to her instead, and she joined in after a moment or two, snuggling better against him; when Forceps poked her head around the doorway, both little pairs of lights had gone dim.

"I think they're offline," the surgeon confirmed, quietly, settling next to Hardline at the table. "It's probably a little safer to talk, now…"

The adults' voices were soft, but the low murmur was just enough to attract both youngsters' sleepy attention. Footloose lifted her head and watched the doorway for a while. "Talking," she observed, curiously, scooting her way to the edge of the berth and slipping her ungainly way to the floor as quietly as she could manage.

"Shouldn't listen," Slipstream whispered, peering down off the edge of the berth at his sister. "Not talking to us."

"Talk about Ama," she argued, softly, edging her way closer to the door. "Maybe find! Come lis'n."

"…You don't think she's cut her losses and done a runner, do you?" Spotweld wondered, very quietly, not spotting the very muted greenish glow from the twins' room. "She's not been seen in the station at all for the past three orns, and I know she was feeling like she wasn't coping…?"

"I don't think she's been finding it as hard as she's trying to make out," Forceps demurred. "I think she's just after the sympathy vote. And I know she had her doubts at the beginning, but I don't think she's the sort to just dump the little ones, either."

"What if it was related to the break-in?" Hardline's deep voice rumbled, soft like distant thunder. "I know all of us Policebots are on the Blue hit-list, and Pulse just happens to be wee enough to be a good target."

"You're suggesting someone's abducted her?" Forceps sounded doubtful. "Who'd want to do that? Deuce is the only one left, and he never really seemed too set against her - it was _me _that arrested him, if you remember. If he's going to have a vendetta against anyone, it's me."

"Well, I figure _that's_ true enough, but the scuttlebutt says he was pretty interested in her all those times they met up when Blue was still a problem. Pit, one of the little ones could be half _his_, and he's snatched her up to get an explanation!"

An awkward silence hung heavily over the assembled adults for a moment or two.

"As distasteful – and unlikely – as the idea is, I doubt she took too much care over her systems when she was too high to know where she was, so it might be a slim possibility," Forceps agreed, reluctantly. "But that's just muddling the issue. We have no evidence at all to suggest he's anything other than spooked, and hiding out around the hospital, somewhere – if he even knows about the twins, which itself is unlikely."

"Maybe we should see if our three Decepticon allies could come back and give us a hand?" Spotweld half-joked.

"Primus, don't say that where _They_ can hear you," Forceps scolded, quietly; no names were mentioned, but it wasn't too difficult to work out who she meant by 'They'. "The last we need is for our troublesome twosome to think they ought to go find help in the form of the Three Musketeers."

"Tsh. _You'd_ like to see them again, as well, Sepp."

"…well, yes, it _would_ be nice to see them again." She seemed peeved at the semi-forced admission. "That wasn't the point I was trying to make! I just-…" She lowered her voice to a whisper, as if to avoid disturbing the little audios that were already both listening in. "I don't want them taking it upon themselves to go and see if _they_ can find them!"

Just out of sight in the doorway to her room, Footloose perked her head, thoughtfully; Slipstream shook his head at her, knowing _instinctively_ what she was thinking.

"The fact that they're the first sparklings we've seen in a great many vorns doesn't mean they're anything other than _normal_!" Forceps went on, irritably. "They're far too young to have any proper concept of _danger_, and I'm willing to bet they're already perfectly content in their ability to do _anything_." She paused long enough to fix both friends on a glare. "If anyone's going to even attempt to go, it should be adults – more than one, and armed well enough to get past Shockwave!"

Having heard quite enough to satisfy her curiosity, Footloose teleported herself back to their bunk and sat in her little nest of blanket, optics thoughtfully narrowed. "Day Skawar fine Ama," she mused, watching Slipstream take the long way and climb up, laboriously.

"Don'know Day," Slipstream argued, softly, shrinking down into the foam surface of their shared berth. "How we find him?" He didn't often like his sister's plans, and it was usually with good reason.

The solution was obvious to Footloose, even if Slipstream didn't immediately see it. "Have name, ask where!"

"Ask Ausep later," Slipstream decided, firmly. "She help."

Footloose huddled down in her blanket and gave him a hostile look. "Ausep say no."

"Not asked," Slipstream challenged.

"Not _need_. Ausep say no." Footloose gave him a thoughtful look. "Mm, Seem? _Not asked._.."

Slipstream tucked himself closer, and hummed anxiously. "Trouble."

0o0o0o0o0

The twins had been up to something all day, Forceps was sure of it. As well as being their usual exhausting selves, Footloose in particular had been sneaking around in the kitchen – she'd caught her on the sideboard and rooting in the cupboards on more than one occasion. The sparkling had admitted to being 'hungry', when pushed, but she'd been in such a funny mood all day it had been a relief to pack the two of them off to bed and get a bit of down-time for herself. She had a whole pile of journals that she still hadn't had the chance to read, and she really wanted to get them read so she could dump the wafers in the break-room at the hospital, but concentrating on them was… kinda hard… right now…

"…se-epp…?"

A voice was calling her name, as if down a very long echoey tunnel. She grunted softly and tried to ignore it. _So tired_…

The voice was pretty insistent, though. "…se-epp? Sepp…?" Something prodded her shoulder. "Hey, Forceps! You okay in there…?"

She finally lifted her head off her arms, muggily. "…what?" How odd, she'd slumped into recharge against the table, on top of her pile of journal wafers. She was sure she'd not been _that_ tired…

Spotweld had his chin right down on the table and was watching her, anxiously. His words came to her as if through yards of blissfully soft, sleepy cotton wool. "Are you all right?"

"Of course I'm allrrnnh-" She sat up far too quickly and her gyroscopes swam dizzily. "Of course I'm all right," she repeated, as if it'd somehow force it to be true. She felt… woozy. Like she still needed an orn or two of rest. "What's wrong?"

"Resector asked me to check on you?" Spotweld straightened up, and shared a glance with someone unseen behind her. "As you'd not showed up for your shift, or called in sick?"

"What?" She checked her chronometer. "Primus!" Half an orn – and three-quarters of her shift! – had passed completely without her knowledge. She lurched unsteadily to her feet, and promptly fell straight back down.

"Steady, steady…" Hardline caught her shoulders from behind. "Spots, go see if there's anything in the kitchen might explain-"

"No need," she growled, irritably, rubbing woozily at her temples. "I know what's been going on. That little wretch, I _knew_ she was looking for something she shouldn't have, in the kitchen, I bet she put something in my energon-"

"…er, Sepp?" Spotweld was at the door to the spare room, a worried, pinched expression on his face. "I hate to interrupt, but, um… Where's the twins?"

0o0o0o0o0

On _Nemesis_, at the bottom of one of the oceans on a small green planet called Earth, one member of the Decepticon Aerial Elite was busy keeping the side up. Skywarp was in the monitor room… his feet up on the console, chair rocked back on two legs, hard at work catching a few breems of recharge. Now, Megatron would _usually_ have a major hissy-fit if he could see him, but he figured that since the tyrant was safely tucked away down in the repair bay – again – after getting his aft handed to him by Optimus Prime – again – what the optic couldn't see, the mind wouldn't worry about. So all was good.

At least, all _would_ be good if not for that damned _beeping_! He onlined one irritable crimson optic and studied the control console; there was a light flashing on one side. How long had that been going, for? He rocked the chair back onto all its feet and stabbed a finger at the 'receive' button.

"What?" he barked.

The flinch from the other end was almost audible. "Er, commander Skywarp?" It was that stupid dithery little silver ground-pounder who seemed obsessed with space bridge guard duty – Vantage, the teleport recalled his name was. Not much of a Vantage, he was about as much good as a frigging spark in a trance.

"Yeah, what?" Skywarp propped his chin on one hand, boredly.

"I need to talk to you."

"What about?"

There was a long pause at the end of the line. "It's important."

"So tell me, already!" Skywarp chased. "Am I gonna get it out of you one word at a time?"

There was another long pause. "I mean, I need to talk to you _in person_."

Now was Skywarp's turn to pause. "What?" He lifted his head off his hand, and studied the blinking light a little more closely. "I'm on monitor duty, can't it wait?"

"Oh, right, because we all know how seriously you take _that_ job," Vantage scoffed, bravely.

"I'll have you know-"

"Look, sir, this is important. Can't you get commander Thundercracker to cover you for a little while?"

Skywarp let his complaints die unspoken; the little glitch had actually called him 'sir', so it must be a little bit serious. "All right," he growled, resignedly. "I'll ping you when I'm on my way. And this _better_ be serious, or I'm gonna personally dig a new track to the space bridge with your head."


	3. Chapter 2

**Warped - Chapter Two**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N: **yes, I shamelessly filched a couple of comments people had made in various places in this chapter. ;)

And I'm not saying ANYTHING about the cryptic bit. Suspicious guesses will probably be right. ;P

As a BTW, there be more arts! on my devART. (I'll link to them properly on my profile later, but that will be after sleeeeeep.)

* * *

For a very long quarter-breem, Skywarp sat and examined the blank monitor.

Much as he hated to admit it, Vantage _had_ piqued his curiosity. Yeah, so it probably _was_ asking a bit much for it to actually _be_ something out of the ordinary, because to Vantage, perpetually stuck guarding the space bridge, _everything_ was unusual – but then the guard's way of showing his interest in something was usually along the lines of OMFP LOOKIT LOOKIT! ROFLROFL and they usually ignored him. For him to actually be moderate and thoughtful about it suggested it actually _was_ something at least _vaguely_ important.

Couldn't just ditch his post, though. Megatron would yell at him even more loudly than he'd yell if he caught him recharging on the job. _Gotta think of someone who can cover for me. _Skywarp frowned, and rubbed his nose; there were really only two choices who could be relied on not to squeak to the warlord, and those were either of his wingmates. And neither would be _happy_ about his request.

Starscream was 'debriefing' Megatron – well, that was what he _called_ it, although it was probably more like rubbing his face into his mistakes and gloating about exactly _what_ had gone wrong and what would have been done better if _he'd _been in charge, while the tyrant's fusion cannon was offline and he still had the chance to do so without getting toasted.

Thundercracker would be down in their shared dorm, probably recuperating after his own narrow dicing with disaster. He'd almost had his wing shot right_ off_ by some new Autobot weapon, and that had left him sore and grouchy. Skywarp fidgeted. He knew Thundercracker was more than a smidgen peeved at him personally, since it had been a shot aimed at _him_ that had knocked the blue Seeker out of the sky – teleportation was a wonderful tool for skipping out of the way of things at short notice – and he didn't _really_ want to pester, but… While Thundercracker would probably chew on his audios, Starscream could be counted on to physically bludgeon him a new one. So Thundercracker it was.

-_TC?_- he pinged. -_You awake?_-

There were a few long seconds of waiting, and finally a gruff, sleepy response came over their private channel. "_Well, I am __now__. What do you __want__, fragger?_"

Skywarp made a face. _Great, he IS still pee'd off._ "I, er… listen, something's come up. I wondered if I could ask a favour off you?"

"_If you're gonna ask me to do your duty shift for you, you can just frag off without even bothering asking_."

"Well, er… Not even for a cycle or two?"

"_G'night, Skywarp-_"

"No no, wait, wait! This might be important!"

"_Oh__, this seriously isn't fair. I'm running on vapours already, you can't expect-_"

"You can rest up here, we've got hookups and everything under the monitor console! Please, TC, I'll make it up to you."

"…_You never really grasped the idea of _monitor_ duty, did you?_"

"Aw, come on, TC, nothing ever _happens_. Those stupid Auto-dorks are far too busy building trees and befriending the Squishies." Skywarp pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered frustratedly under his breath for a moment. "Look, I promise, I'll make it up to you! I'll do you _two_ shifts as payment," he offered, hopefully. "That's fair, right?"

Silence greeted his words.

"…right, TC?" he coaxed, nervously. "Um, and you can have some of my high-grade?"

Still silence.

"Half of it? _Most_ of it?" Skywarp chased, sounding more worried by the second. "TC, come _on_…! Aand…" The longer the silence at the other end of the line got, the more desperate he was starting to sound. "I'll stay off the squishy internet a whole lunar cycle! I won't hack into anywhere important or post rude messages on government websites or anything…! Come on, TC, what more do I have to give you, sacrificial offerings of my own spare parts? _Pleeease_?"

"_Well, I _was_ going to accept your first offer, I just wanted to see how far I could get you to string it out if I didn't answer_," Thundercracker finally replied, drolly, and laughed at the spluttering angry noises Skywarp made in return. "_All right_," he growled, amusedly, at last. "_You do me _three_ shifts in return – because you _still_ owe me for that time ten orns ago, when I dragged your ungrateful aft out of a river before you flooded your temperature regulator – and I'll do your shift now. Just give me a minute to get there…_"

"Did I ever tell you how much I love you, TC?" Skywarp said, and made relieved smoochy faces at the monitor.

"_No, you didn't, and I'd kinda prefer it to stay that way._"

0o0o0o0o0

Far below, beside the giant, flattened metallic torus of the space bridge, Vantage was waving; the silver groundling had made himself a perfect target for any prowling Auto-dork, the way he stuck out like a shiny silver beacon in the rocky landscape, so Skywarp figured it was probably safe to land. He dipped his wings and pointed his toes, and landed gracefully nearby.

"This better be good!" the teleport 'greeted', irritably, advancing up the rocky hillside. "What's so important you couldn't just tell be over the radio? I'm taking a risk coming out here without authorisation, Megatron's already threatened me with a leash and I don't want to be confined to quarters for the next terran month."

"Ehh, well… You've, ah… got visitors," Vantage explained, awkwardly, unconsciously backing away from the prickly flier.

"Visitors?" The teleport quirked a brow. "So why didn't _they_ tell me they were coming? Why'd they rely on some halfwit ground-pounder to relay the message?"

"Well, this halfwit ground-pounder at least got the message to you with no problems, unlike those last couple who came through," Vantage groused, and glanced back over his shoulder at the heap of supplies Shockwave had apparently just sent back. "I bet they never even got their message across, yet, did they? Besides, these new ones are kinda small, and a bit linguistically-challenged, so I figured they could do with a bit of help."

"What?" Skywarp gave him a look. "Vantage, you're going in circles. If you're just fragging about, I will not be held responsible when my foot gets inserted up your rear turbine." He waved a finger under the guard's nose.

"Aw, lay off." Vantage bravely swatted the hand away. "I told 'em to stay hidden until you got here, just in case you had an attack of the honourables and brought Megatron along. I was figuring you'd want to decide what to do without him venting exhaust heat down your neck the whole time."

"What to do with _who_?"

Vantage directed his attention back at the heap of supplies. "Hey, you two? You gonna quit hiding sometime, or what? He's here."

For a second or two, there was nothing. Then there was a shifting rustle, and two empty solvent cans and an energy brace slid off the top of the heap, and at last a little dark head with probing greenish optics appeared from where its owner was hidden at the middle of the pile. "This am?" it asked, quietly, looking sidelong at Vantage for confirmation. The voice was extremely juvenile, and… perhaps female?

The guard nodded, just once.

There was a brief flicker of purplish light as molecules were ionised and forcibly deformed, and the little machine reappeared in the clear spot in front of the pile, closely followed by a second, fractionally larger one – possibly male? The heap of supplies groaned and all slumped in on itself, now the small bodies weren't holding it up, making the little mech jump and cling closer to the femme.

Seeing them both _teleport_ was a worrying development. His unique spatial skills were one of the few things Skywarp was pretty good at, and also a rather rare ability – something Megatron had tried hard to replicate on several occasions, but never really succeeded at. If those Auto-dorks had somehow managed to carry off an effective gating system-

He wasn't given much time to contemplate it. The smaller of the two – although not smaller by much – came forwards with her head canted over sideways, and enquired, quietly; "Skawar help?"

Skywarp perked _both_ brows, and gave them both a long, hard, suspicious look. "All right, I give up," he admitted, at last, straightening to glare at Vantage. "What's the joke?"

The guard quirked his head sideways. "I… don't know?" he replied, as if trying to work out what the test was. "Should there be one? Look, they just appeared out of that heap of old junk, and asked for you." Vantage spread his hands, peevishly. "At least, that's what I worked out, eventually. I figured maybe _you_ knew something! I don't know how they got past Shockwave, I don't know how they got onto the space bridge, I _certainly_ don't know why in Primus name they want to see an underclocked airhead like _you_! Just that here they are, and they do. So how about _you_ sort it out, and stop asking _me_ stupid questions?"

"Oh, send 'em back to Shockwave," the teleport instructed, dismissively, waving a hand and turning to face back down the hill. "He'll know what to do with 'em. Might even make him more inclined to watch who he's letting through the space bridge, in future."

He got three whole steps before there came the stroppy little _uu-whup!_ of a siren from somewhere behind him, and he froze up completely, foot still upraised. _Siren? Squeaky has one of them. Don't tell me they're here for __her__? Kinda small for Policebots. Or maybe she's shrunk? Or-…_A horrible thought struck him, and he felt his jaw sag. _Aw, no. That's GOT to be a mistake-_

"Er, Skywarp?" Vantage coaxed. "You okay?"

He realised he'd been stood like an idiot with his mouth open and his foot still in the air for a full few seconds, and let the recalcitrant thruster slowly back to the ground. Then turned around, very slowly, very carefully, and studied the two little blobs of mismatched armour a little more intently.

Siren: check. Flashing lights: check. Teleport? As if seeing it with his own disbelieving optics hadn't been enough, they'd got past Shocky _somehow_. And… were those stubby little winglets, on one, as well?

His first thought, as the unappealing truth slowly revealed itself to him, was _oh, slag_.

The thought that immediately followed it was _oh, SLAG_, and he actually backed off a step, clipped the back of his foot against a low outcrop, and landed with a low _whump_ on his aft in the dirt.

The diminutive femme took it as an invitation to try again, came forwards with one arm outstretched. "Skawar?" Her small face was set in a dedicated little frown of effort.

He put out a hand, still not quite able to shake the stunned expression from his own face, and she slotted her tiny fingers into his large palm.

"Please tell me you're _not_ what I think you are," he said, vainly. "Because it's _really_ gonna make my life difficult if you are."

The small mech had grown braver at seeing his little friend approach the giant and not get squished. He sneaked up behind her, using her as a shield, and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Day?"

"That was kinda what I _didn't_ want you to say," Skywarp groaned, and rubbed his optics. _Slag. Slag slag slag. These two are MINE. What in Primus name do I do now? _

The little femme climbed up onto his leg and caught his arm. "Help find Ama," she said, cryptically, tugging at his fingers. "Come with?"

He stared down at her, about to gruffly deny he wanted anything to do with either of them, and... felt his resolve waver in those big, round optics. "Iii… guess I better take you home, for now," he sighed. "Primus only knows how I'll sneak you past whoever's on monitor duty, but Screamer will know what to do with you…"

"So. You _did_ know something, after all," Vantage pointed out, already back in his favourite seat, feet up, watching the Seeker approach.

"Huh. You so much as _think_ of breathing a word of this to _anyone_," Skywarp threatened, smiling sweetly, "and your aft is mine. Got that?"

Vantage nodded, warily. "Not a word," he agreed, with a sloppy salute.

"Good." The teleport gave him a condescending pat on the helm. "And I can _also_ promise that you won't even see me sneaking up on you, if I ever have to come remind you of the terms of the arrangement." It was a fact not lost upon him that the little femme was waving excitedly at Vantage from her perch on his dark shoulder, and the silver guard was waving back. _Oh well. I figure that means I can trust him._

"So, uh… what am I supposed to call you two, anyway?" Skywarp wondered, pulling a face as he picked the little male up as well.

"Slipstream," the little mech explained, patting a hand down on his small chest. "That Footloose."

"Button!" Footloose insisted, leaning down off the dark Seeker's shoulders.

"Button?" Skywarp gave her a look.

"Cute as!"

"I don't even need to guess whose idea _that_ was," Skywarp grumbled, ambling away downhill and rumbling his thrusters. "Let's get you away from here before the Auto-dorks catch wind of you."

"No fly?" Slipstream asked, quietly, shrinking back against Skywarp's chassis.

"No fly?" Skywarp echoed. "What's that supposed to mean? I've got to get back somehow-"

"No fly," Slipstream repeated, turning his face away.

Skywarp pursed his lips, and thought back to the time they'd spent on Cybertron. "You scared of heights, or something?" he guessed, thinking about one of the phobias Pulsar _hadn't_ tried to hide.

Slipstream nodded, silently, trying to mould himself against him.

"Well, I can't exactly _walk_ back," the dark Seeker explained, tiredly, feeling a faint vibration starting up in the tiny body. "Or _swim_, for that matter, because there's a big old bit of wet between us and home. Um. Okay, let me think…"

0o0o0o0o0

_Where… where was-… what had-… _

…_what…?_

...ohh, pain. _Pain_. Everything was so hot. After those blissful, numb nanoseconds of returning consciousness, her diagnostics pulsed another chit of data up from her sensor-grid, and _ohhh _did everything hurt. Not just that raw, unrelenting heat that slowed every processor until it felt like it was flowing through old engine grease, it felt like she'd taken a one-way trip through the primary grind-plates of a recycling mill.

Why was it so hot? So tortuously difficult to do anything, to just get her optical circuitry to respond, her optics to come online. The world that revealed itself to her was nothing more than a blur of dull ginger, with a shifting, yielding floor. The air was rank with high-smelling chemicals and burnt circuits… was that all just from her?

She groaned inwardly, unable to flex her vocaliser and tell the world about her hurts. Her central processor had already overheated and enforced stasis twice, if her diagnostics were to be believed, and her vocal circuitry was still recalibrating… Of course, it was still damaged, wasn't it?

Wait, no – no, it hadn't been the _heat_ that had so completely ruined her vocaliser, that had happened _before_ the heat. No, it had been the fingers – the long, thin, spidery fingers that had probed like a hunting xenobiotic into her mouth and on down her throat even as she arched her back and kicked and tried to struggle free-

Pain was a rash of damage warnings all down her left side. She finally vented a long, thin electronic warble of pain and tried to squirm herself out from under the crippling weight that crushed down on her back, her arms.

"Hey- oh, hey! …waking up…?"

Words came to her in a distorted, jangling mess. It sounded almost like-… no, it couldn't be. Must be yet another trick-

"So hit-…!"

"…'t want to hurt-"

"Just do it! …_I_ have… shut her up, I'll… more than _hurt_…"

Dark blurs – someone's feet? – came briefly into her field of vision, but there was a flash of pain, _oh_ such pain! And the world went dim again.

0o0o0o0o0

The return to _Nemesis_ was… weird. Slipstream had tucked himself away in Skywarp's cockpit, and was now clinging on like grim death, busy vibrating his fright at being _so _high up off the ground. It had been intensely distracting, at first, but rerouting power _away _from the affected circuits toned down the problem. The longer they were airborne, the less the sparkling was shaking, anyway – perhaps getting used to it, or perhaps just too tired. There wasn't enough room for both little ones to fit in his cockpit, but Footloose was content to sit on his shoulder and hang on to his shoulder vent, so long as they didn't go too fast.

Getting them aboard without being noticed was going to be the fun part, Skywarp mused, unimpressed. It was rapidly coming up to the time for a shift-change, and if he remembered right, Ramjet would be taking over. If he was lucky, Thundercracker would be still there… -_TC? Still monitoring?_- he pinged.

-_Yeah. You back then?_-

-_Kinda_-

Beat. -_Want me to stay on shift?_-

-_Please. Cover for me?_-

-_Owe me __big time__, now, Warp_-

-_Much love!_-

-_Quiet, you. Sending tower up_-

"Have to come home!" Footloose instructed, as they circled, watching as the docking platform rose like some sort of malignant purple fungus from the unfriendly waters.

"Wait, what. You two little blips of nothing came _all this way _just to get me to go 'home' with you? Whose silly idea was _that_?" He pointed his toes at the docking tower and came to a graceful halt on the landing stage, carefully extracting the tight little Slipstream-coloured bundle of limbs from his cockpit. "Squeaky, I'll bet. Can't handle the pressure, or something."

"Ama Sweeky lost," she corrected, sombrely, with a little _whup!_ of alarm as she finally lost her grip and slid off his shoulder. He was already turning to catch her, and watched as she automatically teleported herself closer to the ground to soften the impact. Obviously had some experience in falling off things, he figured. Screamer would no doubt have something droll to say about _that_.

"Help us find!" Slipstream explained, clinging to his leg.

"Okay, so… let me get this straight." He waddled into the lift, his sparklings still hanging off his thrusters. "You two decided – all by yourselves – that you'd come here, to a whole different planet, to find me – a _Decepticon_, who you should be damn well _scared of_ – because you want me to help you find that annoying little Autobot that helped make you?" He groaned and covered his face with both hands. "Primus. One of these days I'll get the chance to have a little bit of meaningless fun that _doesn't_ end up having giant repercussions."

0o0o0o0o0

Ramjet had arrived late as usual, and looked puzzled but not particularly interested to find Thundercracker instead of Skywarp sat with his feet up in the monitoring room. They swapped places with an almost unfriendly bit of jostling, and Thundercracker emerged into the corridor to find Starscream waiting.

"Our mighty leader has called a meeting," the red Seeker explained, irritably, nursing a new silvery dent in his forearm. "I think he's in the mood for blaming everyone else but him for his latest failure, again."

"He's already blamed _you_, then?"

"Blame I was quick to absolve myself of." Starscream smirked and demonstrated the silver on his knuckles. "For once he elected not to argue the point."

"The fact we dragged him off the battlefield in pieces and Hook has only just patched him back together has nothing to do with it, of course?"

"Of course!"

_-Guys? Need you-_

Thundercracker gave Starscream a look, following him into the lift to the command centre. "Did you just hear-"

"Yeah, he pinged me as well," Starscream interrupted, dryly. "I wonder what sort of mess he's got himself into now?"

"Do you think we should-"

"No, he can wait. If he's going to skive off somewhere and let _us_ take any flack for his absence, then he can wait."

Half a breem passed in peace before there was another slightly more irritable ping, just as they passed through the door into the crowded control room and edged along the sides to their positions at the front of the assembly. -_Important!-_

_-Wait_- Starscream pinged back, annoyedly.

-_Seriously__ important-_

_-WAIT-_

The retort was inaudible, but conveyed its disgust accurately enough.

At the front of the room, Megatron surveyed the assembled Decepticons, and narrowed his optics, grimly. "Where's that idiot Skywarp got to?"

The two Seekers present swapped looks, and shrugged, innocently clueless expressions on their faces.

"He's been in the monitoring room for a while," Thundercracker suggested. "I imagine he's gone to recharge."

The warlord narrowed his optics. "And what makes today different to all those other times he's happily sat up in the monitoring room and slacked off up there?" he growled. "Please don't take me for an idiot, I know exactly what he does when he thinks no-one's watching."

"Of course, sir. My apologies." Thundercracker dropped his gaze, humbly.

"You're not _covering _for him, by any chance, Thundercracker?" Crimson optics narrowed, suspiciously. "If I find out he's up to another of his idiotic pranks-"

"Me, sir?" Thundercracker touched fingers to his cockpit and produced the single most guileless, innocent expression yet recorded for a Seeker. "After everything the fragger's put me through? There _is_ a limit to my patience."

Megatron gave one of those guarded, wordless growls that could have meant anything, but didn't challenge him any further. The blue Seeker was familiar enough with the unspoken _you'll-be-for-the-high-jump-as-well-if-I-find-out-you're-lying_, anyway, without it needing to be said.

The "meeting" itself was short and suitably to-the-point. Megatron roundly lambasted everyone present, and when no-one had the good manners to look suitably chastised he gave Starscream a good whack around the audios for having the nerve to actually _stand quietly_ and _not back-chat him_. How dare he mock him so openly! It was a good job he was in a good mood or Hook would be patching up _another_ fusion-burn over the overconfident air-commander's delicate wings! Everyone got dismissed with a single highly-dispersed crack of low-yield violet laser fire that stung the derma, and the announcement that Megatron was sick and tired of looking at them, the flock of prize idiots…

"Well?" Megatron growled, the instant he and Soundwave were alone.

"They are hiding something," Soundwave confirmed, quietly.

"What, exactly?"

"Data: insufficient. Impossible to tell. Even they do not seem to know what Skywarp is doing." Soundwave paused, and considered. "They cover for him anyway."

"Keep a very close watch on them," the warlord instructed, softly. "I want to know what they're playing at _the instant _you know."

0o0o0o0o0

"I could suggest we lay bets on exactly what idiocy our dear wingmate has got himself into," Thundercracker quipped, ambling out of the lift onto the dormitory level he shared with Skywarp, "but I know he'd still manage to surprise us."

"And that is _not_ the sort of humour we should use when Warp is the subject," Starscream scolded, following him through the doors. "Tempting fate is an exercise I would prefer to avoid."

Thundercracker rolled his optics, and stabbed his fingers carefully down across the number pad to unlock the door to his quarters. The door slid back to reveal Skywarp sitting on his berth, legs crossed in front of him, his back and drooping wings to the door.

"Warp?" Thundercracker took the lead into his and Skywarp's shared quarters. The lighting was low, and the place was quiet, and it all just felt… odd. "Everything okay?"

"If you pestered us in a meeting and dragged us down here for nothing-" Starscream added, standing in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest.

"You guys remember when we were on Cybertron last, right?" Skywarp wondered, not looking up. "About… half an Earth year ago?"

"Hardly going to forget _that_. What about it?"

"Well, er…" He finally glanced back over his shoulder, and his optics had a funny subdued glow to them. "I kinda… had an… accident. With Squeaky."

There was a second or two of silence. Then-… a pair of small, round, slightly purplish-blue lights appeared under the lower margin of Skywarp's wing, and blinked up at them.

"Whoa," Thundercracker jumped, startled, and backed into Starscream in the doorway. "What are you doing bringing strangers aboard, Warp? And-" He narrowed his optics. "…They're pretty puny, aren't they?"

"I only brought them back so you two could help me work out what to do with them," Skywarp retorted, tiredly, allowing the owner of a second set of small lights clamber up onto his shoulder to ogle the array of wings in the doorway. "I wasn't going to leave my-… ahh, _them_…with Shockwave."

There was another of those long, uncomfortable pauses.

"Oh. My. Freaking. Primus," Thundercracker breathed, horrified, noticing Skywarp's slip, and successfully putting two and two together. "Tell me they're not _sparklings_."

"We-ell… I _would_, but I know you don't like it when I lie to you…"

"Primus alive, Skywarp! Every time I think we've finally plumbed the very last depth of your stupidity, you come up with yet another new and inventive way of proving me wrong," Starscream despaired, glaring exhaustedly at the teleport. "Didn't the concept of _taking precautions_ ever cross your half-clocked processors when you were playing around with Squeaky?"

Skywarp studied his fingers, guiltily. "Um, well… no?" He glanced up at his wingmate and half-smiled, sheepishly. "At the time? I was kinda preoccupied, and, ah… it… never really occurred to me."

"What did you _think_ was going to happen, merging sparks without the appropriate baffles in place?! Idiot!" The red Seeker gave him a stern swat around the back of the head. "Do you even _attempt _to think further ahead than your next break? And what in the _Pit_ are you doing bringing them back _here_?" he added, angrily. "Do you _want_ Megatron to get his hands on them, or did you think you could somehow hide them from him _right under his nose_?"

"Well, _maybe_ I brought them back _for him_," Skywarp sulked back, folding his arms and almost dislodging Footloose from his shoulder. "I _am_ supposed to be his most loyal Seeker, right? A powerful gift for the mighty warlord."

"Oh yeah, that sounds pretty likely," Thundercracker scoffed. "You get hold of something genuinely valuable, and you go hand it straight over to Megatron, who's world renowned for his respect for rare, valuable things."

Skywarp dropped his gaze back to his lap, irritably. "I didn't know what else to do, all right?" he defended himself, sulkily. "I could hardly ask you to come out and meet me at the space bridge without Megs getting suspicious, and I wasn't going to leave them there all on their own. Those stupid Auto-dorks might have found them, and I'd never get to the bottom of things if _that_ happened."

"What is there to get to the bottom of?" Thundercracker wondered, perching on the side of the berth next to him. "Unless you're wondering why Squeaky should elect to dump them on you, because you're hardly ideal parental material."

"Ama Sweeky los'," a little voice explained, and the blue Seeker looked sidelong at the sparkling on the teleport's shoulder; she was watching him _veery_ intently. "Day help fine!"

Skywarp gave both his wingmates a despairing look. "See? What the Pit can I say in response to that?" he demanded, tiredly. "They want me to go back to our homeworld, to look for Squeaky, who for all we know might have done a bunk because _she's_ not ready to be a parent, either! I just… rrgh!" He rubbed the heel of his hand into his optic, and looked genuinely beaten. "I don't know what to do, guys. I could really do with you actually helping me instead of calling me rude names, for once."

"A good kick in the skidplate would be the _most_ help," Starscream sniped, glaring, but his expression had marginally softened. "All right, all right. I'm on board – but only because I know there's no way you'll puzzle your way through this on your own, and leaving you to your own devices will only spell disaster. TC?"

"Poetic justice, huh? We've had to look after Warp this past few thousand vorns, now he gets a turn at it." Thundercracker gave the little femme a vague smile – who had climbed her investigative way over to his shoulders, by now – and spread his hands in a shrug. "All right. I'm in. Besides," he smiled, sheepishly. "These two mini-Warps are kinda cute, anyway."

"Tizzy?" Footloose asked, peering round at the pale face, and there were amused snickers from the other two. "That name?"

"TC," the blue Seeker corrected, with a dry smile. "Thundercracker."

"Dacker," Footloose tried again.

"All right, that's probably close enough for now," Thundercracker clucked, gently, nudging a knuckle up under her chin and listening as she chirped back at him, reassured. "Y'know, I agree with Screamer, Warp. I don't think we should tell Megatron," he mused, quietly, removing the femme from his shoulders and offering her back to Skywarp. "Aside from the fact he could probably crush both of them with no effort whatsoever, if he felt that way inclined, I also don't think they'd stay sparklings for very long."

"You don't think he'd _kill_ them, do you?" Skywarp glanced up, automatically lifting his arm out of the way so Footloose could tuck in alongside his wings.

"I think TC means – and I agree with him – that the chance to mould them into the ideal warriors would be too great to pass up." Starscream nodded his agreement with his wingmate. "Indoctrinate them so early they don't think to question the validity of his campaign."

"I'm so glad you both said that," Skywarp grinned, half-heartedly. He looked like he wasn't entirely sure if he should force the twins to go recharge somewhere else, or look pleased that both his unexpected brood had elected to snuggle closer, and had a confused semi-sneer on his face. "I'd hate to be forced to kick _both_ of your afts if you were thinking about giving them to him."

"Regardless of who _does_ or _does-not_ tell whom, we _are_ going to have to decide what to do pretty damn quick," Starscream cautioned, softly. "Because I think we can all be pretty content in the idea they won't _stay _secret for long. In the unlikely event they manage to remain _unseen_, the resident mindprobe will probably root the information out." He gave the twins a look. "Getting them home – and getting them to _stay there_ – will be the better option."

"Get home," Slipstream agreed, quietly. "And find Ama."

"What do _you_ want to do, Warp?" Thundercracker coaxed. "You're a partner in this as well, and they're _your _little ones. You can't leave it to us two to decide it all for you."

Skywarp dropped his gaze into his lap, and shrugged, awkwardly. "It would be nice to know she's okay," he admitted, then added, to save face; "then we can give her these two back. Right?"

"All right. Before we even _try _to go, we're going to have to cook up a pretty damn good reason to go back to Cybertron," Starscream considered, warily. "Because I don't think Megatron will fall for 'we were a bit homesick, boss'. And until then? We should try hard to keep them with us at all times. If someone's going off-base on a routine patrol, they can take one with them. Avoid leaving them unattended at all costs. And there will be _ground rules_," he directed his attention down at the two infants. "You two will behave yourselves, or you will find the rules are tightened. Understood?"

The two sparklings swapped looks across Skywarp's chassis, then huddled closer to him, nodding.

Starscream examined Slipstream from a distance; the small optics had dimmed almost all the way into a sullen cobalt, but they watched him back just as intently. "Well, I suppose at least it explains what happens when you put Warp and Squeak's sparks in a blender," he deadpanned. "I dread to imagine their adult capabilities. Teleporters with voices that could shatter mountains." He winced. "Primus, even just _imagining_ the Doppler effect on a siren moving at supersonic speeds is giving me a headache."


	4. Chapter 3

**Warped - Chapter Three**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** I shall say it now. This chapter completely kicked my aft. :_falls over_:

Ugh. Sorry. I didn't want things to move quite as quick as they have done, but my brain melted while I was writing it, so… I guess this is as good as I can make it. :\ And it's even more OOC than the last chapter, so egh, I figure that's just the way this one's gonna go.

Additionally, I shouldn't be allowed to listen to music while I'm writing this. I end up associating the most irrelevant, inappropriate tracks with it.

"Put my hands over your eyes, but you peek through…"

Okay, so it'd fit better with the end of the storyline (and makes a very surreal image :P ) Speaking of which, I have no frickin' idea how I'm going to finish this one. Oh well!

* * *

It was a good job he'd lapsed into recharge with his back propped against the wall, Skywarp mused, because he would have fallen clean off his berth at finding the small face with far-too-bright-for-this-time-of-day green optics a fraction of a handsbreadth from his own nose. "Primus!" He jolted hard in alarm, and jerked his hands up, and only just halted his shove before he sent the sparkling flying. "Don't do that!"

"Day!" Footloose greeted, oblivious to the violence that had almost been dealt on her small body. "Awning!"

"All right, all right. Hello, Trouble," he sighed, tiredly, as she clicked greetings and butted her small head up under his chin. "So I didn't hallucinate the pair of you, after all."

Slipstream was awake, but still tucked down alongside the big teleport's wings. He flickered his optics, and wiggled his fingers in a 'hello', but seemed content to stay where he was, sleepily placid compared to his sister. Thundercracker was still oblivious, flaked out on his front… but not for long. Footloose sprang all the way between berths and landed square on the back of his left wing. He gave a grunt of startled shock, and shoved himself partially upright fast enough to send the small machine sliding all the way to the floor with a squeak.

It took a second for the blue Seeker to work out they weren't under attack, and when the world came back into focus he groaned tiredly and let himself slump back to his berth. "Her first alt-mode should be an alarm clock," he groused, glaring. "I tell you, if she makes a habit of _that_, I'm gonna petition for a new room, Megatron be damned."

Skywarp watched as Footloose did a careful, thorough investigation of the room. "Might not have to worry about that, if Screamer gets his way."

"Anyone would think you're getting all paternal and having second thoughts, Warp."

"No-o." Skywarp did that thoughtful face that usually had his friends running for cover. "Just… wondering when the 'cooling off period' will end."

"The _what_?"

"You know, the period where you've gotta decide if you still want something? That."

"Oh, for goodness-…" Thundercracker covered his face with one hand and shook his head. "Warp, they're not _toasters_."

"I know, I know," Skywarp accepted, hands raised. "I just-… I-… TC, I don't know. What if I don't want to give 'em back?"

"This isn't exactly prime sparkling-raising habitat, you know."

"Exactly! Why do you think it's so hard for me to decide?!"

Footloose had stopped in the middle of the room, and was watching both out of alert optics. "Where Sta'zim?" she wondered, at last, and the reason for her circling at last became apparent.

"He gets a room to himself," Thundercracker replied, sitting himself up and rubbing his shoulder. "One of the perks of rank, means you don't have to slum it with your underlings."

"Doesn't mean we can't get to him, though," Skywarp commented, thoughtfully.

Thundercracker gave him an optics-narrowed look, recognising the glint in the dark Seeker's crimson gaze. "I wouldn't. You want her to get fried?"

"I didn't say _anything._" Skywarp put his nose in the air.

"Oh, _you _didn't need to…"

0o0o0o0o0o0

Starscream hadn't been particularly welcoming of his morning greetings, Skywarp mused, ambling down the corridor towards the air commander's lab. After giving his wingmate's audio a good chewing – which Skywarp had ignored with the ease of long practice – the smarting red Seeker had squirreled himself away inside and refused to talk to anyone called Skywarp for a cycle or two. A little prodding and a half-hearted apology or two had coaxed a snappish response out of him, which the teleport took to mean enough time had passed for him to pretend nothing had happened.

Once safely within the screened confines of the laboratory, he popped his cockpit open so Footloose could get out. "All right, Button. Out," he instructed, giving her a little shove when she didn't immediately emerge. "You've got your own little legs, you use 'em."

Footloose grumbled quietly on landing, but soon had her attention taken by the room. It reminded her a little of Spotweld's surgery, but it was _full_ of far more exciting things… she headed off to investigate the closest large glittering piece of electronica.

"Great," Skywarp grumbled, folding his arms. "Now I feel like Soundwave. Figure I'll be giving him less of a hard time, from now on."

Starscream gave him a quick (and deliberately obvious) visual scrutiny, from the top of his head to his feet, and back up again. "I would say you look like him too, but that's not fair on Soundwave," he said, dryly, ignoring the irritated noises that came from his wingmate. "I'd only worry about it if you catch yourself telling her to 'eject'. Where's the other one, anyway?"

"Left him with TC. They're too big to carry 'em both about in my pocket."

"I'm debating whether I should be glad you left the well-behaved one behind or not. It means we can keep a better eye on this one, but equally we probably didn't ought to have her in a room full of delicate electronics and combustibles…" Starscream directed his attention back at the little femme doing a long, slow orbit of the room, assessing where everything was. "You touch _anything_, and there will be trouble," he threatened, waving a finger for emphasis. "I have enough problems with Skywarp breaking things he shouldn't even be going near, I don't want you following in his footsteps."

Footloose gave him an anxious glance and put her fingers back in her mouth, but didn't stop her investigating.

"Psh. They wouldn't have worked anyway, and you know it," Skywarp argued, amusedly, referring to the devices his own curiosity had consigned to the scrapheap. "I just saved you from wasting all that time on lost causes."

"So when are you going to save me from wasting time on _you_?" Starscream deadpanned, giving him a dry look.

"Oo-hoo, low blow, Screamer, low blow." Skywarp gave him a 'friendly' slap on the back and almost sent him sprawling over the desk. "So what are you doing, anyway?"

"Trying to ramp up the output capacity of _this_." Starscream gestured to the little communications wafer that lay gutted on the table.

"Is that the one you swiped off Hardline?" Skywarp leaned closer to peer down at it.

"It's the one _he gave me_ when we left, yes," Starscream confirmed, making sure he emphasised the corrected part of the sentence. "It's got all the relevant bandwidths, but it's nowhere near powerful enough to get a message all the way to Cybertron, and I really want to avoid using _Nemesis_' communications arrays in case anyone should, ah… listen in."

"Wait, what exactly are you saying, here? You want those Policedorks to come and help out?" Skywarp gave him a nose-wrinkled look. "You don't think we're capable of doing this ourselves?"

"No, I want those 'Policedorks' to come and get your two little brats, so they're out from under our thrusters."

Skywarp narrowed his optics and folded his arms, defensively. "Aw, come on, you can't still be sore I got her to go wake you up-"

"…!! Jumping all over my wings is not the sort of wakeup call I appreciate!"

"-Besides, they're _my_ little brats," Skywarp went on, ignoring him. "And if I want them here, I'll keep them here."

Starscream gave him his best long-suffering look. "I'm trying to be a realist, here," he explained, irritably. "I know I'm expecting a bit much of you, but have you even once paused to think about the logistics of this?"

"What logistics do we need to think about? Where we're going to swipe enough energon to feed 'em with?"

"I'm thinking rather more about the fact that they're a _liability_, Skywarp," the red Seeker glared up at his wingmate. "Having them around puts _us_ at risk."

"Oh, you're not still thinking about old Buckethead, are you?"

Starscream gave his optics such an obvious roll it was almost _audible_. "Yes, Skywarp, I _am_ thinking about him – which is a good thing, because _you_, in contrast, seem to be hoping I'll do enough thinking for both of us, so you don't have to do _any_! And as for _you_, I told you not to touch that!"

Footloose leaped away from the device she was trying (and failing) to secretly poke at as if it was hot, and attempted to culture an air of nonchalance. "Not touched!"

"Well, contrary to what you think, I _have_ been thinking about the future," Skywarp chased, sulkily. "Yes, if they're going to learn what it means to be a Decepticon, so they can choose what they want to be when they mature, I'm going to be the one to teach them," he explained, tiredly, reciting his proclamation in such a manner that made Starscream think he'd known it'd be asked and he'd been rehearsing it already. "But is it a big deal if the boss helps out a bit?"

"You don't think that's the _only_ thing he'll do with them, do you?" Starscream challenged. "Okay, so imagine you're your usual idiotic, argumentative self. Who do you think he'll direct the wrath of his cannon at, to get you – or any of us three – back into line?"

Skywarp gave him a glare, but the pennies seemed to be dropping, at last, and his carefully belligerent expression had faded into a dismayed pout. "You said yourself you didn't think he'd hurt them."

"No, I said I didn't think he'd _kill_ them." Starscream vented hot air in a long-suffering sigh, and turned to face his wingmate. "Warp, this just isn't going to work. They have to go back. We can't leave them to their own devices here, because goodness only knows what they'd get into without a pair of mature optics – present company excluded – keeping watch over them. We can't operate in the field, either, not with them underfoot, and we certainly can't take them into any situation where they – and, by extension, us – will be put into danger. Are you starting to get the idea?"

Skywarp had already very much got the idea, but was happily playing the idiot. "We could leave them with Vantage, he seems to get on well with little sparks," he suggested, sulkily.

"Every single time? And how long before the Autobots follow us to the Space Bridge and find them? You think they'd ignore their usual 'noble' principles and let them _stay_ with us?"

"All right, so we could… take it in turns to stay behind," Skywarp proposed. "Easy. Right?"

"Oh, so you've already asked TC if he's happy to play nursemaid to your little brood, have you?"

"Nnnot in so many words, no." Skywarp rubbed the back of his helm, evasively.

"And don't you think it'll make Megatron even more suspicious, if there's only ever two of us in action at any given moment?"

"You could put some sort of positive spin on it! Come on, Screamer, you gave him Blue and not only made him think it was _Shockwave_ did it by sending us tainted stock, you got him crawling before you fixed him, _and_ he didn't kill you for it! How hard is it to spin something like _this_ in our favour?!"

"By your reticence to commit to one thing or another, I'm forced to assume you're happy to be a stay-at-home parent," Starscream snapped, finally losing his patience. "I'll stop wasting my time working with this."

"Oh, hey, wait!" Skywarp startled into alertness, as if stung. "That wasn't what I meant!"

"Oh really, funny how you're suddenly being decisive _now_."

Skywarp glared, and hunched his shoulders. "You know I don't like it when you back me into a corner," he grumbled.

"So for once in your life try and culture a little _responsibility_!" Starscream threw his hands up, exasperated. "The little ones have to go back – if only so they don't turn into a bargaining chip to get _us_ to do what we're told. Once we've raised the police, we can get them to wait near the Cybertron end of the Space Bridge until we've got the sparklings hidden, and shipped them over. And if after all that you're still set on helping find Squeaky, at least we've got some processor room to come up with a good excuse to head back home ourselves. Right?"

Skywarp studied his fingers, and nodded, silently.

"For once, I'm not doing this just to be an aft," Starscream added, more quietly. "I'm trying to keep _us_ in control of the situation. Once we lose control to Megatron, getting it _back_ will be next to impossible. Right?"

"Right," Skywarp sighed, then glanced up and wrinkled his lip in a teasing sneer. "You're still an aft, though."

Whether she sensed they were talking about her, or whether not being allowed to touch had stifled her curiosity, Footloose had drifted back towards her family. "We find Ama now?" she asked, softly, tugging at the closest set of fingers, which just happened to be blue.

Starscream glared down at her, and she abruptly let go of his hand and backed off, posting her fingers back into her mouth. He sighed, tightly, and forced a smile that for once _didn't_ look more like a snarl of bared teeth, and picked her up. "Not yet, but soon," he lied. "Once it's safe."

She shrank back against him. "Not safe here?"

"Not safe _enough_," he corrected.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Three Terran days passed happily in a similar vein, without problems. Leaving the twins unattended was sadly a necessity on occasion – but Skywarp had found a good hiding place for them, and putting the fear of Megatron into them wasn't too hard, so neither sparkling had felt obliged to go investigating the corridors. (Footloose seemed particularly in awe of the giant warlord, going instantly quiet when his name was mentioned.)

The greeting the three received when they finally got back was typically exuberant – family reunited, all still safe, so here's a lapful of sparklings – and it took them a few breems to calm down enough to have the energon that Skywarp had 'found'/stolen for them. While the little ones refuelled, Skywarp and Thundercracker tended to each other's war-wounds – mostly just scorchmarks, but Thundercracker had a peppering of shrapnel embedded in the back of his wing which took a good cycle to get out, and by the time Skywarp was finally done, Slipstream had settled into recharge in an amused Thundercracker's lap.

Footloose was still awake, albeit looking dozy. She plopped her chin down on Skywarp's knee and gave him a woeful look. "Day Skawar?" she said, ensuring she had his attention. "Why no find Ama yet?"

Skywarp was sitting back against the wall, a half-cube of energon balanced precariously in one loose hand. "Eh? What?" He onlined an optic, and looked down at her.

"Come here so you help fine Ama," she explained, doing her best little wounded voice and crawling right up onto his knee. "Say will help, but still here!"

"We've got to think of a reason to go back, Lucy," he explained, slouching back against the wall and letting her climb up to rest her head on his neck. "If we don't, Megatron might not let _us_ back."

She approximated a little electronic _snort_ noise.

"Hey, hey, don't you make those rude noises at me. You don't want to stay here, do you?" He felt her shake her head. "Well, this is _my _home. How's it different if you drag me away from here?"

"But here nasty!"

"Well, I know I don't have the _tidiest _of habits, but that's a bit mean."

She wriggled closer, and clicked quietly. "Meg'tron here," she corrected.

"Ehh, well, there is _that_, I guess…"

0o0o0o0o0o0

The two Seekers hadn't been the only machines injured in the latest scuffle with the Autobots – Megatron himself had lost his gun arm altogether after an unhappy meeting with the business end of an industrial rock-saw. It took several cycles for Hook to finally decide he was done repairing the warlord – reattaching an arm was a tricky procedure at the best of times, and not helped by the Constructicon's fernickety nature – but the waiting Soundwave didn't complain. He had nowhere else to be, and it gave him plenty of time to think without the chatter of his Cassettes interfering with his own thoughts.

Finally Hook emerged, his face pinched in distaste. "_The_ _ingrate _wishes to see you," he sniped, as he passed, just loudly enough for the target of his ichor to overhear.

Soundwave ignored the insult towards his commander, and moved into the doorway. "Mighty Megatron," he greeted, bowing his head steeply. "How may I assist?"

The warlord glanced up from the data-wafer in his hand, and muttered something inaudible before flicking a hand in a summoning gesture. Obediently, the blue mech stepped over the threshold, and listened as the door hissed softly closed behind him.

"The walls have too many audio-sensors, on _Nemesis_," Megatron explained, at last setting the wafer aside. "It is a sad situation where machines may not talk in private without the fear of someone listening in…"

As was his wont, Soundwave elected not to comment, particularly since he'd spent the past three Terran days engaged in exactly that. "How may I assist you?" he asked again.

"I'm anticipating that you may at last have something on those damned Seekers. Something conclusive on what they're up to. To not put too fine a point on it," Megatron growled, darkly, "those three couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery, under normal circumstances, if you'll pardon my use of the human vernacular. And yet!" He waved an accusatory finger. "They seem to be managing quite successfully to run rings around us right now. And I want to know what they're hiding."

Soundwave hesitated, for altogether too long.

Megatron's brows drew tight, and he lowered his head like an angry bull looking for an excuse to gore someone. "Well, Soundwave?" he 'suggested', softly. "Do you have something for me, or not?"

Oh, Soundwave had something, all right. Something _huge_. But now it came to the crunch, he found himself unsure whether or not he should let the warlord know. Something he'd caught one of the Seekers grumbling about had given him doubts about the best course of action-… "Probably irrelevant," he decided, at last. "The usual sneaking. Nothing more."

"I will decide what is and what is not irrelevant," Megatron hissed, softly. "_What _do you _have_?"

Of course, he could _lie_, he knew, but Megatron was particularly unforgiving of that, lately. He already seemed to see conspiracies everywhere, adding a real one to the mix wouldn't help. Crossing his fingers that everything wouldn't now go Pitwise, Soundwave silently depressed one of his buttons, and allowed a recording to answer for him.

"Primus, Skywarp, if you try really, reaally hard next time, you'll find somewhere even smaller and even more cramped for us to meet up in!" The bass voice was obviously Thundercracker, and he sounded uncomfortable. Judging by the hollow tone to his voice, and the slight echoes, they were probably in a storage locker on the lower decks, somewhere.

"Well, I'm _very _sorry," Skywarp retorted, sounding not in the least bit apologetic, "but it was getting kinda hard to find places to meet up that Megs or Soundwave didn't have their beady little optics on. They know all our usual meeting spots."

Megatron pursed his lips, grimly, although Soundwave wasn't sure if it was just at the usual Seeker-skullduggery, or just being called "Megs".

"Besides," Skywarp went on, more quietly. "This is probably the last time we'll have to meet up like this, right, Screamer?"

"With luck, yes…"

_Of course, it wouldn't be a proper conspiracy without that red-painted traitor leading the way_.

"I've made contact with Hardline. He's going to keep a couple of officers deployed close to the Space Bridge so we don't have to go to all this trouble raising Cybertron again. All we have to do is get the little ones _to_ the Space Bridge-"

_Wait, what was that? Little ones?_

"-and make sure they're well hidden in whatever junk we're sending back to Shockwave – he must be used to Rumble's antics by now, the unannounced arrival of an pile of old spare parts is hardly going to be a surprise."

"And what if he gets hold of them?" Thundercracker reminded. "Come on, Screamer, Shockwave's not gonna pass up _that_ chance to ingratiate himself a bit further into Megatron's good books."

"They're both small enough that they can slip past him unnoticed, if they're careful, and in the event he _does_ spot them, they've already proved they're fairly competent teleports."

Megatron had already narrowed his optics, thoughtfully. _No wonder they've been sneaking about more than normal…_

"Guys, I don't like this plan," an unnaturally quiet Skywarp finally put in. "We're gonna get caught, and Megs is gonna get his greasy fingers on them."

"Ohh, if only you knew how prophetic your words will prove to be, Skywarp," Megatron breathed, softly, and bared his dental plates in a wolfish smirk.

0o0o0o0o0o0

No-one suspected a larger plan had been put into motion when Skywarp got himself landed with an unexpected cycle of monitoring duty again, while Motormaster - who should have been on duty instead - was supposedly having a systems-check. It was just considered to have thrown a small spanner into the plans; the trine had planned on splitting up into their assigned reconnaissance paths like normal, until most attention was elsewhere, then coming back together close to the Space Bridge and rendezvousing with Vantage, who was a willing (if reluctant) member of the team. Once the sparklings were safely through the bridge, they'd get back on patrol and deny anything had happened, if asked. It'd just take them a little longer to reunite, now, that was all...

Slipstream had looked severely perturbed at the idea of flying, again, but had nodded quietly and allowed himself to be settled in Thundercracker's cockpit; the more sedate blue Seeker had seemed most appropriate to carry the jittery little groundling.

Footloose had gone with Starscream; she'd squeaked excitedly at the idea of getting out from 'nasty Nem'sis' again, and hadn't needed much urging to scramble into the red Seeker's cockpit. She'd already earned her first scolding for not sitting still.

"You're all clear for takeoff, guys," Skywarp confirmed, from the monitor room. "Be seeing you around, right?"

"Right," came Thundercracker's confirmation. "Watch yourself. We'll meet up asap, okay?"

"Okay." Why did it feel like someone had their boot pressing down on his vocaliser, Skywarp wondered? _Nothing going on. Shouldn't be so jumpy_. "Take care of yourselves." He sat and watched the red blip and the blue blip migrate off to either side of the screen, and finally vanish. _They're okay. They've gone. They're out of reach now, right? Right?_ He sat on his hands, to keep himself from fidgeting.

"Why, Skywarp. Just the machine."

_Aw, slag._ Skywarp turned to look over his shoulder to find the mech he'd been most hoping to avoid framed in the doorway.

Megatron smiled his sweetest smile – the sort of smile that usually made machines flee in terror – and beckoned. "Come here, if you would."

"Aaa-ha-ha, hello, Mighty Megatron!" Skywarp laughed, nervously, failing to keep from looking anxious. "How can I help you, your mightiness?"

"Come here," Megatron repeated, softly. "We need to have a little chat."

"I'm, ah, I'm on duty," Skywarp argued, vainly. "I'm sure I have nothing you'd be interested in, sir."

"It would be wisest for you to allow _me_ to decide that," Megatron reminded, watching as the Seeker's crimson gaze roved hastily across the room – looking for an escape route, perhaps? "Motormaster? If you would be so kind?" the tyrant flicked a hand at the Stunticon leader, who was conveniently lurking in the corridor.

Skywarp bolted, but too late. A large dark foot inserted itself between the Seeker and freedom, and he went sprawling.

"You may tell your comrade," Megatron commented, delicately, as the Stunticon closed his large fingers on the Seeker's wing and hauled him up off the deck, "that he can either come peacefully, and preserve a modicum of dignity, or he can continue to act the sparkling and be carried all the way to my office. Entirely his choice, of course."

"I'll walk, _thanks_," Skywarp retorted, shakily, drawing himself unsteadily to his full height and trying to stare the larger mech down.

Motormaster _pfft_-ed, unimpressed, and gave his rival a firm boot up the backside the second his back was turned, sending him sprawling again.

Megatron smirked down at the groaning jet. "Much as it amuses me to see it, flinging yourself at my feet will not help your case," he observed, dryly, as the dark flier picked himself up and tried not to look like he would rather be anywhere but here, hustled along the corridor in front of his leader.

"Sit," Megatron gestured a hand at the solitary chair in the centre of the room, when they finally reached his sparse 'office'.

"Thanks, but, uh, I'd rather stand-"

"It wasn't an _invitation_, it was an _instruction_," Megatron cut in, and watched as Skywarp all but _fell_ into the chair.

"So, um, wh-what did you want to see me for?" _Don't fidget, don't fidget._

"I have a few questions for you, but that can wait a moment. First we shall set some parameters for this meeting, because there are two ways we can do this, and I do not desire any, ah… _misinterpretation_," Megatron said, calmly, pacing sedately back and forth in front of the dark Seeker, who was trying (and failing) to maintain his air of lazy nonchalance. "We will try the easy way first of all. If that is unsuccessful, we will move onto… harder methods. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes, Megatron." Skywarp forced a grin, but it looked more like a grimace of alarm. _Harder methods of what?!_ "No problems there!"

"Good. Now please also tell me…" Megatron halted his pacing, and ran his fusion cannon almost tenderly down the teleport's chest. "Are you going to behave yourself and just tell me what I want to know? Or am I going to have to beat it out of you the same way I have to get information out of your wing-commander? I would _hate_ to be forced to use violence on my _most loyal_."

"Uh-uhm, y-yes, sir." Attempting to maintain a lazy nonchalance became an attempt just to maintain a little dignity. Skywarp shrank back against the chair's hard surface, tensing his fingers on the arms hard enough to leave dents. "What do you want to know?"

"You and your beloved wingmates have been overheard-"

The teleport's face visibly fell. _Slag._

"-talking about, how shall I put it? _Little ones_. And I would like your explanation."

"There's nothing to ah, to explain. It's, um, it's just little, you know. Gadgets!" Skywarp lied, frantically, and the cannon pushed very slightly harder against his chest. "Little things! Starscream wanted us to test them!"

"Don't lie to me, Skywarp. I heard your discussion in its entirety," Megatron's voice descended a further few notches. "I know you were not talking about _gadgets_. I want to know exactly what you _were_ talking about, and I would also like it if you stopped treating me like your own species of _idiot_!" He gave his cannon an angry shove to accompany the last few words.

"It's nothing, they're nothing!" Skywarp blurted the words out, preoccupied by the whine of heating coils in the long, black barrel. "Nothing at all…!"

"Just _how long _did you three traitorous heaps of smelting think you could sneak around and keep something of this kind of magnitude from me?" Megatron went on, as if his officer hadn't even spoken. "This is _my ship_. I have my senses everywhere. If you're up to something, I will hear about it. I will _see _it." He wrinkled his lip in a sneer and closed the gap between the mouth of his fusion weapon and Skywarp's face by another few inches. The Seeker had tensed up all the way, by now, and was vibrating very slightly in fear, wings buzzing. The air had taken on the heady stink of ozone and superheated ions, and a familiar red heat pooled around the cannon's mountings. Mmm, how _easy_ it would be to finally wipe this treacherous little insect from his campaign… but… no. He was still desperately short of warriors. He would have to be imaginative to get the teleport back in line for once and for all. "So confirm for me what I already strongly suspect, and I may not melt out what little remains of your worthless central processor."

Skywarp stared down the mouth of the weapon and whimpered, pathetically. "There's nothing more to tell you!" he pleaded, fingers wrapped around the rim and trying to push it away backwards, but it sizzled painful heat against his hands and Megatron had the edge of strength. "It's nothing. It's just… inventions. Gadgets. Nothing!"

Megatron gave him another shove, irritably, and straightened. "I see we're going to get nowhere with this…"

He may have backed off, but Skywarp knew it was not to let him go. He was here until the pale giant was done with him – a baffle stopped him teleporting, and the warlord would gun him down before he was even halfway to the door. So he sat tight, shoulders hunched, and waited for whatever new twist was coming-

The main screen on the terminal at the front of the room lit first with a sullen indigo glow, then divided into two video feeds; the bright dots of Starscream's thrusters were framed in the top half, and Thundercracker's in the bottom.

"Now, Skywarp. We're going to play a little game," Megatron oiled, pacing like a caged tiger behind the teleport. "You choose a target," he leaned down over Skywarp's shoulder, and watched with a morbid satisfaction as the trembling jet flinched away from him. "And I shoot it down."

For a full few seconds, Skywarp was sure he must have misheard. "Sh-shoot-… sir? What?" he stammered.

"Isn't it an easy enough concept for even your outdated processors?"

Skywarp barely heard the words. _Shoot one down. Shoot one down. What does he want me to tell him, how can I get this to work in my favour? Can I get it to? Oh, Primus, let me think like Screamer for just a minute! Can I logic an answer?! _But there were too many _variables_. Ignoring the fact they had one each, was he going to shoot down the one that had them, or the one who didn't? Was he going to shoot them down so he could catch them, or not shoot them down so they were undamaged? Did he want the little ones for himself, to train up as his own little protégés, or did he want to cleanse and sanctify the noble Decepticon history by wiping the unholy little mongrels off the face of history?

"Either _you_ choose a target, or I do," Megatron snarled, softly, right into Skywarp's audio. "Which. One. Has. them?"

"I don't know what you mean!" Skywarp bleated, frantic, running all the way through his woefully inadequate dictionary of excuses for something that might, _might_ get him off the hook. "They're just on patrol, like you instructed!"

"A machine does not have to be a telepath of Soundwave's ability to know you are trying very hard to cook up an appropriate excuse," Megatron snapped. "You will not win this. So I ask again. Which of your two dear co-conspirators is of the lesser value to you?"

_Logic. Logic. Please, Primus… _Out of the three of them, Starscream always had been and probably always would be the most skilled aeronaut. He'd probably have the edge in a surprise attack, and survive a crash well enough to fight back. And Footloose was with him – he'd not known either of his sparklings for long (a fact he was trying not to dwell too hard upon), but it had been long enough to know Slipstream would probably happily freak out completely and never ever allow anyone to fly with him ever again, falling from the sort of altitude Thundercracker cruised at. So that left only one choice.

"It's Screamer," Skywarp husked, at last, defeated, head hanging. "Starscream's got them."

Megatron smiled, satisfied, and turned to the radio. "That wasn't so hard, now, was it?" he cooed, with a knowing smile, and thumbed the control. "Blitzwing? Astrotrain? Yes. Shoot both of them down."


	5. Chapter 4

**Warped - Chapter Four**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** I deny any responsibility for the dodginess of some of the science in this! Technobabble ftw.

Thank you all for your kind words thus far. I hope to continue to keep all your attention. ;)

tomorrow4eva – now you mention it, I can see where you're coming from. :eeps: I can't say that was deliberate, it was just how he seemed, to me. Maybe I am overplaying it a bit… :ponders: I do have a few twists in the pipeline, though, so we'll see how it goes...

Bit of a longer one, this. :)

* * *

The element of surprise gave Skywarp just the edge he needed to barge the larger silver mech clean out of the way and into a wall. "Belay that order, he's gone crazy!" he yelped into the pickup. "He's crazy!"

Megatron sighed, irritatedly, and landed a fist square between Skywarp's optics. The teleport tripped backwards over his own feet and landed on his aft by the wall, clutching his abused face. "Ignore that little interruption, if you would. Proceed as planned, and _make sure_ you retrieve the cargo."

"Yes, Mighty Megatron!" Blitzwing saluted, amusedly.

"We hear and obey," Astrotrain confirmed.

_Ow._ Sitting whining quietly to himself by the wall, only half-listening as Megatron gave out instructions, Skywarp tried not to clutch too hard at his wounded face; his nose was skewed at a funny, unfamiliar angle. _I think he actually broke my nose for real._ A ruptured coolant line around his optic had fogged the crystal all over the inside, and vapours were sizzling irritatingly over broken circuitry. _Oh, ow ow __ow_.

"Where did I go wrong, Skywarp?" Megatron wondered, melodramatically, at last turning away from his radio and advancing slowly on the fallen flier in a way that _implied_ a desire not to spook him, but just made Skywarp scoot further away backwards. "What did I do to turn you into this… this _traitorous_ little waste of good armour? You were always my most dependable. I could always count on you to give me your all in a campaign. So what did I do," he placed a palm on his broad chest, as if wounded right in the spark, "to lose your loyalty?"

"Never betrayed you, Megatron," Skywarp replied around his fingers, miserably. "Never even lied to you."

"No, you probably _didn't_ lie to me," Megatron accepted. "But you sneaked around behind my back, and hid things from me, and I am forced to wonder exactly what _else_ you're hiding…"

"N-nothing, nothing-…" Skywarp shook his head, urgently. "I was just- I didn't know what to do, I-…"

Megatron leaned down closer to him, and spoke very quietly. "In all the time we have languished on this mud-ball world, I have given you and your wingmates more and more opportunities to develop yourself, more freedom to act on your own initiative," he reminded, grimly. "I never asked that you gave much in return except your loyalty, but how do you choose to repay me? With just more of the same tired old treachery and deceit I've come to expect from your commander. You use my generosity to further your own aims, sneaking around behind my back and plotting your own advancement. Seems I taught you all the Decepticon way a little too well, hmm?" He crouched, casually resting his gun arm across his knees, and couldn't quite hide the smile that draw his lips into a sneering smirk as Skywarp whimpered in alarm and flopped further away backwards.

"I gave you the free rein to do what you liked," he said, softly. "I even tolerated it when you got in my face about my treatment of your commander, because I was stupid enough to think defending each other made you stronger as a team. Only goes to show it's not only the Autobots that have ridiculous over-optimism in things, hm?" He lowered his voice to a hiss. "If the only way to reinforce the fact _I_ am your leader is to tighten the rules, then so be it. The rules will be tightened, and you will do well to _heed them_." He straightened, and turned to face the doorway, where Soundwave's cassette twins now lurked, waiting.

"You called us, Boss?" Rumble prompted.

"Yes. Once this worthless heap of spare parts has finished in the repair bay, remove him to the brig," Skywarp heard Megatron snap. "A Terran year or two in solitary may remind him where his allegiances lie – and by that time he gets out, the two small creatures he has been protecting will be well beyond his grasp."

"Boss? Repair bay?" The cassettes swapped looks.

Megatron stared down at the prone Seeker, wrinkled his lip in a sneer, and Skywarp's last vision was of the nimbus of purple swirling at the mouth of the tyrant's fusion cannon before the flash of white-hot pain shot all the way through him, and the world went out.

0o0o0o0o0

…Starscream was beginning to regret coming up with this plan. _One more question, _he promised himself. _Just __One.__ More. Question… and I am going to completely kick off. _

To Footloose, absolutely everything she laid optics upon was sufficiently new and exciting as to require an encyclopaedic description and several dozen supplementary questions. And that was _everything_, all the way from the landscape to the trees to the human-built vehicles to the constructions to any small animals she spied. And _nothing_ seemed to escape her notice – not even the tiny dot of a crow flying down to land on a fencepost, or the communications mast on the distant horizon. Starscream pandered to her curiosity for a few breems, until the novelty had worn off to sufficient degree that he felt like yelling at her to shut up. What's that, what's that do, why does that, how does that, argh. For someone deriving part of her psyche from Skywarp, she sure burned with an unnatural curiosity – had Warp ever been this bad? Hardly seemed likely. Starscream resolved to hunt down the teleport's creator and challenge them, after bludgeoning them silly for not plastering him with warning labels. _Do not allow this mech to procreate._

It wasn't even as if he could grumble at that idiot wingmate of his, because _whose_ idea was it to take the little pests out with them, anyway? Oh yeah, that's right. _His._

And of course, when it started to _rain_, that was yet another phenomenon she'd never encountered before, and sparked yet another barrage of questions – he groaned, inwardly, and wished he'd chosen to take the desert run instead of Thundercracker. Or- frag, just taken the _quiet_ one. He increased his altitude a little, so the small things were less noticeable and she might just stop asking quite _so_ many questions about inane things – not so high that everything turned into blurs of colour and there was still enough to keep her interest – and the questioning thankfully began to dwindle.

_Clearly this counts as one of your better plans, oh mighty Air Commander,_ he scolded himself. _We all know how patient you are with Skywarp, so how about take the small version of him with you, instead of the quiet little one who won't question you to within a handbreadth of screaming?_ He tuned her chattering out to background white noise with the same long-practice that he'd learned to use on Skywarp himself, and ultimately the rampant questions stopped.

After a few breems of wonderful peace and quiet, his little passenger too busy watching the rainy landscape flash past below to grill him with too many questions, he realised she was talking to him again, patting her little hands down on his control panel to get his attention.

"…Sta'zim? Star? Who they?" she was asking. "Who they?"

"What?" He brought his attention back to the present. "Who is who?"

"Who they follow?"

Who they follow-… what?! He immediately directed his attention behind himself, to find two oh-so-familiar radar shapes looming closer in his sensor grid. Two shapes… wait, no, now _three_ shapes, and the smallest one was closing the gap _very very quickly._

…_Oh my holy everloving fu-_ "Hold on!"

Without even pausing to check if she was secure, he threw himself into an evasive manoeuvre, but not quickly enough, _not quickly enough_. Pain tore all the way up his left thruster and back into the fusion turbine as the well-aimed heat-seeking missile impacted violently on its margin, sending him spiralling into a nosedive, out of control. Footloose squealed in fright and jammed herself into a corner, her blunt fingers digging at his insides in an effort to maintain her purchase and not end up thrown around like a loose cog.

With a supernatural effort he managed to stifle his own bellow of raging hurt – how dare they shoot at him while his back was turned! How dare they have the nerve to actually _hit_ him, _in flight and __moving_, when most days they couldn't land a successful strike even on someone as big as Optimus Prime when he was _stationary_!

Cursing them out would have to wait, the trees were looming up underneath him far too quickly and he had to pull himself out of this nosedive _now_. Far too many systems had already stalled, overloaded, offlined. Fluid lines ruptured, splattering the superheated insides of his engine core with coolant and energon, and acrid black smoke chased him down like an obscene festival banner even after his fire suppressers had put out the raging blue flames that briefly licked inside him.

_Come on, restart, restart-_ Starscream gunned his engines, yelping involuntarily as a bolt of white-hot pain shot through his injured left side, but his right thruster finally kicked in and took up the strain. Wasn't going to keep him airborne for long, but it might be enough to stop him driving his nosecone clean back through his cockpit and shattering every screened relay in his cortex…

Engines whining, the strain making his wings hurt, he'd pulled himself _almost_ level when the topmost branches of the trees began to lash at his undercarriage.

He transformed midair, using his wings to disguise what he was doing and the instant he was close enough to the ground to drop her without damaging her too badly – and if she was anything like her sire, she had plenty of experience in falling off tall things – he ejected Footloose from his cockpit. She squealed noisily and landed with a muted _crunch_ in the sodden undergrowth, which was at least somewhat reassuring, nothing capable of that much noise could be too badly hurt. No time to worry about her right now, though. He had far more important matters at hand – like not killing _himself_.

The trees made an effective (if painful) set of brakes. Although the lighter branches scraped and battered at his paintwork, shredding into splinters in front of his wings, the trunks were another matter. A dozen saplings had exploded into painful matchwood before the massive bore of an oak crunched down hard into the leading edge of his left wing, jerking him into a violent half-spin that almost wrapped him right _around _the treetrunk.

There was one big final sideways _crunch_ across his knees from an old maple, completing the damage the missile had done and shearing off the back armour of one thruster altogether, and his momentum finally ran out, leaving him skewed and half-propped in wet vegetation at the base of the tree. _I guess this means I've landed, then,_ he considered, dazedly, and let his head drop to the ground between his outstretched arms. _…ow._

0o0o0o0o0

A good few hundred metres back, Footloose had landed safely – if a little dazed, and making soft, frightened little _whoop_-s to herself – in a patch of old-growth brambles. The intertwined stems had acted like springs, cushioning her from the worst of the impact, although she'd still made a fair sized dent in the soft earth and had mud packed into every joint space down her back. She watched as two large shapes flashed noisily overhead, not noticing her mostly-dark armour far below them, chasing poor hurt Sta'zim, then flailed her way out of her broad nest of thorns and scuttled into the comparative safety of the thick vegetation.

She chased after them, hidden under the thick canopy of leaves. She might not have a very big brain, just yet, but (like Skywarp) directions were one of her specialities, and she knew how to follow a straight line. Plus, she could home in on the engine noise – more muted, under the trees, and fading, but not quite gone, yet – and the scattered bits and pieces of broken vegetation were easy enough to spot. She hesitated at a break in the treeline, where the sheltering vegetation thinned out to nothing but long grass.

On the other side of the small open patch, just past the scattered bits and pieces of broken tree, was an immobile patch of red and silver, shimmering faintly with blue sparks as falling water got under damaged plating. _Oh no. Hurt!_ She was about to go and check on him when she noticed the sound of engines hadn't died away completely – was in fact coming _back_. She scurried hastily back under the shelter of the trees, before they could spot her, and only just made it in time.

She watched as the two big machines – one big and mostly silver, the other mostly white with a tall pointy head – came in for a landing, and flattened herself down deeper in the undergrowth, pumps jittering, dermal plates vibrating fast enough to be humming. She sternly told it to stop, and the shakes _did_ lessen a little. At least the heavy patter of water droplets – rain, she corrected herself – on the foliage was rattling more noisily than she was.

Why had they shot at them, were they Autobots? She knew they didn't get on with Sta'zim's people, but it was a bit mean to just shoot at-… no, wait. Not Autobots. They wore the same angry purple faces on their exterior plating. Decepticons? That couldn't be right, what were they hurting each other for? Weren't they supposed to be friends?

"He's not got anything with him, Boss," Pointy-head said, watching as Big Silver closed his giant fingers around Sta'zim's shoulder vent and lifted him halfway out of the broken plants. "You sure he's got it? Wouldn't be the first time one or another of Screamer's trine have led you on."

"Unfortunately, no, it wouldn't," a heavy gravely voice agreed over Pointy's communicator, and Footloose shrank down further into the vegetation, involuntarily, recognising its owner as Meg'tron. "Keep looking. Search the immediate area, and wider if you have to. Come back _without it…_ Well, I don't need to explain what will happen, do I?"

"N-no, Boss! We'll find it!"

"Want us to bring _him_ back with us?" Big Silver wondered, gruffly, still examining the inert Seeker.

"Don't bother," Meg'tron drawled. "If he survives, I'm sure he'll make his own way home, like always. Just find the little one, and bring it back. _That_ is what is important, right now."

0o0o0o0o0

"Come on then, Starscream. It's question time, for you." Astrotrain kept his large fingers wrapped carefully around the dazed Seeker's helm, holding him up out of the soggy vegetation; the blue arms dangled lifelessly at either side, the backs of his knuckles resting on the ground.

"Where is it?" Ramjet asked, quietly, hunkering down in front of Starscream; the Seeker's crimson optics struggled to focus on his face. "Tell us, and we might be nice enough to take you back anyway."

"…where's wha…?" Starscream slurred back, vocaliser fizzing softly.

"You _know_ what we're looking for. You stole it away from _Nemesis_, and Megatron wants it back. Where did you hide it?"

Maintaining this destabilised incoherence could work in his favour, Starscream realised. If he just acted stupid, they may lose interest in questioning him – because just telling them wouldn't buy him any favours. He managed a dopey smile for them. "…think I'd… drop it… somewhere…"

"Okay, so where'd you drop it?"

He paused for a long time before finally answering. "…drop what…?"

"That… little one." Although Ramjet sounded unsure of himself. Maybe Megatron had been _too_ cryptic about what he wanted them to do?

"Little what…?"

"That little machine." Ramjet leaned closer and tried to culture his best aura of threat. "The one you stole. You know, even I didn't think you were _this_ stupid, Screamer. That bonk on the head break your brain, or something?"

Already tired of the game, Starscream vented a very long, slow siiigh of air, and let his optics finally go all the way offline. He was well practised in shamming unconsciousness, so fooling them should be easy enough, and once they'd fragged off, he could try and get his bearings on where he was and decide what to do about the mess he'd landed in.

Predictably, after a second or two of worthless examination, Astrotrain decided he wasn't going to wake up in the near future, and unceremoniously let go of him. It took every ounce of effort _not_ to jerk his hands up to save himself, or groan when he got a mouthful of dirt, but they thankfully ignored him anyway.

"Okay, so now what?" Ramjet demanded, sourly, irritably wiping rain from his optics. "How are we supposed to get the information out of him _now_?"

"Well, we _could_ wait for him to wake up," Astrotrain replied, dryly, "or we could just, I don't know, maybe get on with looking for it?"

Ramjet leaned up closer to him and hissed; "If he _has_ dropped it somewhere, we are _so_ not gonna be able to check his whole patrol route, all the way from _Nemesis_ to here." He stabbed a pointing finger at the dirt, angrily, to add a little more weight to his sentiment.

"Well, we're just going to have to, aren't we?" Astrotrain stared him down. "Unless perhaps you'd like to explain to Megatron why we didn't find it."

"Huh. Maybe we should dismantle him, and check he's not hidden it away inside himself."

"Don't be stupid. You know how long it'd take to get him to bits?" Astrotrain gave him a scornful look. "Besides, it won't be that small. It'll be big enough to be self-motile, and the only room he'd have to store it would be in his cockpit – and _that_ is empty."

Starscream smiled secretly at Ramjet's next retort of _come on, we don't even properly know what we're looking for!_

"So the sooner we get looking, the less time it'll have to run off completely, right?" Astrotrain was already backtracking along Starscream's flight path, completely unaware that he'd passed within an arm's length of their target, hiding in the thick ferns at the base of a squat tree. "I tell you what, how about I shoot you now and save Megatron the job later?"

Ramjet groused darkly, and joined him in the search.

0o0o0o0o0

At the same time as Starscream was winging his way over an American National Park and trying not to yell at Footloose to be quiet, Thundercracker was flying smoothly over Northern Africa with a calm little Slipstream tucked quietly away watching images on the display screen in his cockpit. Being able to pretend they were just travelling at ground level and not having to watch where they were going had turned the youngster into a remarkably calm little acrophobe, and their entire journey thus far had been peaceful.

This was to be a longer sweep than his wingmate's, but he had the airspeed to do it with plenty of time to spare. He was to cut a diagonal across the northern margin of Africa, passing over Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia, then low over the Mediterranean and up the side of Italy, sweep down over Switzerland and briefly menace the scientists at CERN (well, he had to have _some_ proof he'd been there, right?), then emerge over the ocean out of the top corner of France and head in as straight a line as he could manage to the space bridge.

At least, that was the _idea_. Thundercracker had just crossed the invisible border from Algeria and into Tunisian airspace when he picked up the signal; excited, enthusiastic, emanating from a small scientific emplacement in the middle of the desert that had – apparently – got their first success in some important project. A functioning, efficient solar collector, able to extract a nearly limitless power supply from sunlight alone.

Drat. Thundercracker circled for a breem or two, indecisive. This had jammed a fairly hefty spanner into the works. If this signal was strong enough that Megatron picked it up, back on _Nemesis_, he'd want to know why the blue Seeker – who was closer and had far better reception in the first place, so couldn't deny having heard it – hadn't gone to investigate. Limitless electrical power! The sort of thing that Megatron was always, _always_ hunting for.

Part of him wanted to investigate purely so he could tell them that he had, and that it was nothing (even in the unlikely event it _was _important). The other part of him – the _larger_ part of him – wanted to steer as far clear of it as he could. The signal had made him instantly suspicious. Not only could he think of no valid reason for a likely-expensive science experiment to be done way out in the middle of the desert – there were equally good places to collect solar radiation, after all, and a lot of them with better local amenities than the Tunisian desert – but why would they be _broadcasting_ about it? Who were they broadcasting _to_, and why were they using such a primitive form of radio transmission? And if it was so expensive and important, it was like an open invitation for _anyone _to come along and take it… Like… it made him think of bait in a trap. But bait for what?

"What do you say about us taking a quick peek, so we can say we've looked?" he suggested, at last.

Slipstream nodded, examining his guardian's controls so that he didn't have to look too hard out of the window at the ground far below. "Then we go to space bridge?"

"That's right."

"You come with?"

"What?" Thundercracker diverted his visual attention briefly inwards, and observed the sad, pursed lips of the little sparkling. "We can't come with you just yet, Seem, but we'll follow you sometime. All right?"

Slipstream didn't look impressed, or like he really believed him, but nodded, dropping his gaze back down to the Seeker's controls.

A _blip_ appeared on Thundercracker's sensor grid, taking his attention – it was some way behind him, but advancing quickly. He pinged a non-verbal request for schematics at it, and got an involuntary return ping of familiar data; it was Thrust. _Hm. What does he want? And why's he not talking to me?_ Thundercracker sent a brief, friendly hail over the air, just in case it was just... mistaken identity, or something...

-_Warp, Conehead with me-_ he sent to Skywarp. -_What's up?_-

He knew his wingmate's response was never going to be _fast_, given the distance, but this time it was nonexistent. And Thrust was still advancing, still not responding to any friendly hails.

_Slag. Something's gone very wrong here. _

"Hang on tight!" Thundercracker instructed, hurling himself into a dramatic, rolling evasive manoeuvre, and the crackling lilac beams of destruction that had been intended for his engines strafed past, close enough to singe but missing vital components.

Slipstream _bleeped_ his fright, voicing a brief and involuntary cacophonous wail from his siren, before freezing up altogether, optics offlined, and going utterly silent. He jammed himself as tightly into the pilot's footwell as he could.

"What in Primus name are you playing at?!" Thundercracker demanded, diving briefly out of range, although he sensed he knew exactly what the Conehead had turned into his enemy for. "Cut it out, Thrust!"

"So hand it over!" Thrust pursued him downwards, matching him manoeuvre for manoeuvre, just a fraction of a second too slowly to get any of his shots to score a significant strike. "And I'll go easy on you!"

"Hand _what_ over?" Thundercracker twisted into a steep climb, but Thrust was hot on his tailfins. _Damn, he's too close for me to get behind him. I'll have to put some distance between us._

"We _know_ you've got it, TC. Megatron told me to fetch it back. So hand it over and I might not shoot you out of the sky!"

_He's bluffing_, the blue Seeker realised, putting on a just enough of a turn of speed to start to open a gap between them. _He doesn't even know what 'it' is. _"I'm running my normal patrol, you moron!" he retorted, calling the red jet's bluff. "Checking out these weird signals – if you _looked_, you'd have picked them up on your radio grid as well!"

Thrust strafed another shot across his opponent and missing his cockpit by a hair, and sing-songed; "Don't say I didn't waarn youu."

A shadow blotted out the sun, and Thundercracker belatedly realised Thrust wasn't as alone as he'd thought. Keeping himself mostly in line with the blinding sun above, Blitzwing had lurked until he was sure the blue Seeker's attention was fully taken by the scarlet Conehead… then twisted gracefully into a straight-down descent, and drilled a long, clean shot down all the way through Thundercracker's right wing as the Seeker passed below him, shearing a great chunk off it.

Pain jangled a warning all down Thundercracker's side, and he could feel himself losing control of his path, unbalanced drag forces creating a shearing sensation across him.

"Okay, Seem, hang on," he instructed, calmly, trying to keep his nose level. There was a jagged cluster of mountains looming in front but just past _that_ was a beautifully flat bit of desert. If he could just manipulate his path well enough to get that far, he could use the sand as a soft, yielding crash-mat.

His altitude ran out just short of that lovely flat patch. He cursed, inwardly, and braced himself-

Components _crunched_ as he slammed hard on his belly onto the rocks, bouncing once like a skipped stone before coming down just as hard a second time. There was a sharp pain as something broke, and he could feel the rocks scouring and stripping chunks of blue and silver away from his underside. He skidded almost all the way to the desert foothills, before finally coming to a skewed, dusty halt with the haphazard edge of his damaged wing pointing skywards.

Slipstream was virtually paralysed, his little fingers clenched tight on inner components. The air that huffed out of his vents was scorching hot and over-stressed, and his optics were right offline. _Don't make me look, don't make me look. _

"Come on, Seem, out!" Thundercracker instructed, tightly, popping his canopy open. He could hear Thrust already coming around for another strafing flyby – the noisy idiot was throttling his engines back and making them howl a lot more noisily than they ought to have done, but the Seeker was no cowering Autobot put off by a little bit of noise. He had to get a shot or two of his own in, startle his opponent into a retreat-…

But Slipstream hadn't moved – still shocked by the rough landing, still making little frightened squeak noises – and while he was still jammed tight in there, too scared to budge, Thundercracker was still helpless on his belly on the rocks.

Time was running out. "Slipstream, I need to be able to transform-…! Dammit, get out!" He bucked up and down once or twice on his injured landing gear, shaking yet more pieces of broken detritus off his undercarriage, and finally the sparkling got the hint, and was gone in a flicker of violet.

Thrust was almost on top of him when Thundercracker finally unfolded himself. "Dodge _this_, you traitorous slagger!" the blue Seeker boomed, swept his good arm up in a long, elegant curve and blistered purple laser fire across his assailant's fuselage, scorching the vulnerable surfaces of his wings and painfully obliterating a good few dozen individual sensory modules in his nosecone.

The shot was too woefully underpowered to do much more than superficial damage, but Thrust gave an audible yelp of pain and almost stalled right out of the air, skidded his own fuselage over the rocks at the crest of the ridge as he struggled to pull up, and just managed to wheel himself out of range.

"Hey, _hey_, where are you going?" Thundercracker heard Blitzwing demand, listening in to their insecure channel.

"Not staying here so as he can shoot at me again, that's for sure!" the Conehead retorted. "It's not like he's gonna go far, he's _grounded_! We can come back with reinforcements at our own leisure!" Never the sort to go above and beyond the call of duty when his own personal health was at stake, Thrust was already beating a hasty retreat even as Blitzwing cursed his cowardice and followed him.

Thundercracker waited until the sound of their engines had faded completely from the desert air before turning his attention back to his little passenger. And-… Dammit, where _had_ that mobile little heap of spares gone and hidden himself? The blue Seeker shielded his optics, and scanned the landscape. "Slipstream? Where are you?" he called, his deep voice making a sonorous, far-carrying rumble in the parched air. "See-eem?"

A weak little _ping_ bounced off his firewalls from somewhere in the middle distance, higher up the mountainside. He turned himself towards it, wincing as he scuffed an injury against an outcrop, and began to climb.

This whole new development had made him anxious. The continued lack of response from Skywarp couldn't be accidental, and if they'd attacked one of the three, it stood to reason he wouldn't be the only one on the receiving end. _-Screamer, you OK?- _he pinged, worriedly.

_-Shot-_ came the reply, at last. The return ping was full of distortions, and sorely low powered.

Damn. -_Badly damaged?-_

-_Bad enough. You?-_

-_Grounded, but mobile. Lucy?-_

-_Escaped, I think. Astrotrain, Ramjet chasing_- Beat. -_Seem?_-

-_Looking for_-

There was a pause, while Starscream processed the information. -_Attackers…?_-

-_Not chasing. Saw them off_-

-_Ha. Smug_-

-_Can't find Seem either, though_. _Still looking_-

-_Oh_-

The responses were getting slower, and at last Thundercracker realised it wasn't because his wingmate was thinking hard about things, it was because thinking itself was growing difficult. -_Screamer, you all right?_-

There was another of those pauses. -_No. Losing stability_- Another pause, but this time it seemed like it _was_ because he was having trouble swallowing his pride long enough to ask the question. -_Help me?_-

-_Will find someone_- Thundercracker promised, although he hadn't the first idea who he thought he was going to call on. -_Keep calm_-

There was another of those protracted silences, and -_help me_- repeated itself, although it was so distorted it was hard to make out.

-_Screamer, stay with me_- Thundercracker coaxed, gently, but there was no reply. -_Star?_- He cursed, quietly. Losing communication with Starscream suggested he was unconscious, or worse, which in turn would mean Footloose was alone, if they hadn't already found her. He hoped she had the brains to stay hidden.

Finally, he reached the origin of Slipstream's ping, and after a moment or two found a pair of large, lilac optics watching him from a little crevice in the rocks.

"Ah, hey, Seem, there you are!" Thundercracker greeted, gently. "That's a good den, but you can't stay up there any longer. Coming down?" He held out his hands.

"No fly?" Slipstream whispered, very quietly, peering warily down off his rock but making no move to actually _get_ down. He looked like even the slightest _suggestion_ of going airborne again would spook him back into hiding for another few cycles.

"No, no fly," Thundercracker agreed, tired but managing to smile at the absurdity of it all, and winced at the slow hurt in his injured wing. "_Ow, _damn. Most definitely no fly, right now. Looks like we're gonna be ground-pounders together, for a while." He lifted his hands closer to the rock, encouragingly.

Slipstream finally edged his way down off his perch, settling quietly into the large black hands. "Where we now?" he wondered, peering out across the broken landscape.

"I think the humans call this bit of their planet 'Tunisia'," Thundercracker explained, surveying the bleak, rocky desert landscape with an increasing sense of dismay. "Middle of effing nowhere would seem appropriate, too."

"Lot of _nothing_," Slipstream agreed, shrinking back against him. "Cybertron not this empty."

"No. It's not this damn _flat_, either," Thundercracker agreed, drolly, setting off down the slope, having to work hard at maintaining his footing on the unstable substrate. "Maybe I _will_ come home to Cybertron with you, after all! Once we've got ourselves out of _this _little rough patch..."

Slipstream nestled himself down alongside the big Seeker's cockpit, tucking into the curve of his elbow. "Where we going?"

"Well, I figure if I walk in a straight line, we'll come across some sort of human activity, right? We flew over some towns on our way in, so we're guaranteed to come across a road, or a pipeline, or something, which we can follow back to civilisation. Once we've got our bearings, we can start to think about getting help."

Slipstream hummed dubiously. "Squishies," he pointed out, quietly.

"Yeah, I know." Thundercracker sighed his agreement. "I don't want to get too near them either, but they're gonna be pretty unavoidable. At least their technology isn't going to be good enough to be a threat, and it shouldn't be too tricky to hack into their communications grid, get a message out to…" Frag, who exactly _were_ they going to call? "…uhh, someone. But we can think about that later. Besides, I don't want to still be hanging around here if Thrust actually changes the habit of a lifetime and comes back with reinforcements…"

0o0o0o0o0

It was still hot. Oh, damn, still so hot. So sluggish. It was like trying to think through old motor oil. She lay inert, half-listening to an angry tirade in Cybertronian, struggling to get enough coolant to circulate in her cortex to get her mind straight, but everything was so difficult. Maybe it _was _better to just lay quiet and let the world rotate around her.

"I don't pay them to just give me _excuses_!" the angry voice in the distance snarled – a voice as harsh and cutting as if its owner was speaking through a vocaliser packed with gravel, and with a familiarity that ran painful heat up her back. "I paid them to _get it for me_, not lounge on their afts eating dates in Chebika! Get out of my way, you worthless heap of spares. I should have left you to rot in that prison! I see I'm going to have to have words with them…"

The voice faded, and the dark blur faded out of her straining vision, leaving nothing but a sea of ginger smudges. She sighed, disappointedly. If only she could just-… just find out… Who was that? It was a voice she felt she ought to recognise, but everything felt so… so _blunt_, still. Blunted, blurred. Wrapped in layers of sleep and fog and copious doses of heavy sedatives.

It was still uncomfortably hot, but at least her diagnostics had finally managed to narrow it down to an external, environmental problem, not an internal systems one. _Oh, Primus_. It felt like all her intakes were jammed hard with some sort of crystalline substance, and why did everything _hurt_? All so slow, and dull, and painful. So hard to work out where she was. Who she was.

"…nnh," she groaned, softly, trying to squirm her knees under herself, and push herself back into a sitting position, and this time careful fingers caught under her aching shoulders and helped her upright. She felt her head loll sideways, as if every actuator in her neck had snapped, and bump against something that made its own noise of pain, but move to support her.

Something felt wrong – something she couldn't place. What was-… what had-… _ow_. A white-hot pain dabbed down into her shoulder; she shifted her back and grunted tightly in pain, tried to force the world into focus to see what was wrong.

"Shh, shh-hh," an anxious voice soothed – another of those familiar-unfamiliar voices. "It's okay, it's only me… I need to get these patches finished."

"Who… who are…" She slurred the words out with difficulty, vocaliser spitting distortions. _So hot._ There was another of those spots of intense, burning heat just above her right shoulder, and she jolted away from it with a low noise of pain.

"Please, sit still," the voice murmured, grimly. "If you jog about I'll only end up welding the wrong things. Primus knows you've had enough of that the past few orns. I only have a few more open ends to patch-… I have to patch them or you'll leak all your essential fluids onto the floor again."

The voice was gentle, and reassuring, and yet she felt disinclined to trust it. Something about it… something that lurked in her mind, under all those layers of sleep and sedation. She dug for it, but another spot of white heat jerked it away from her grasping brain.

"Stopped her leaking, at last," the angry voice said, unexpectedly, and she felt the anxious voice jump, startled, tensing fingers on er shoulders. "Good, good. We still have plenty of work to do on her. Can't have her dying before we're done with making our little modifications, can we?" There was a sibilant chuckle, and the dark blur came closer. "She can save _that _for _after _we've posted her pieces back to that idiot of a lover…"

The glow of murky amber optics came briefly into view before their owner dipped closer, so close she could feel the stale, ionised heat of a malfunctioning temperature gauge venting hot air against her cheek. "I'm sure he'll be _delighted_ with the improvements he ordered…"

0o0o0o0o0

When Skywarp finally awoke, it was alone, in semi-darkness – at least they'd left him a light! – laying on his back, with pain jangling angry warnings all the way down his right side. _Unnhh. So he did go ahead with it, after all. _He groaned quietly to himself, and flopped himself into a sitting position.

His poor mutilated nose was at least back in one piece, but they'd took his cannons, to stop him shooting his way out, leaving smooth little rivets and painful holes in his sensor grid where the mountings had once been. That familiar uncomfortable old subspace field was in place to keep him from teleporting, as well – he might know exactly where he was, but the field would disrupt his triangulation and more than likely end up with him in a wall.

His right side was more worrisome. He touched a hand to the hurt, hesitantly, and whimpered faintly at his discovery. It wasn't because the wound was particularly _painful_, because it wasn't – it was a _blunt _sort of pain, like the sensors had been overloaded so many times they'd just burnt out and given up, leaving sensor ghosts tracking back along all the mesh to his central processors. The wound's jagged edge half-explained why it had that strange numb ache to it – it wasn't the rounded, melted edge of one of Megatron's fusion burns, nor the neat slice-and-dice sort of wound that an irritated Hook could be counted on to deal out, but jagged, raw-edged, delicate circuitry fraying out into the air, like someone had planted a foot on his chest to hold him down and just _yanked_ _upwards-_

What made him whimper was not the pain, but the fact that the wound ran all the way from the point of his shoulder down to his hip… and the wing that should have been attached to the broken circuitry was conspicuous in its absence. Winged. _Winged_.

_Stupid_, he cursed himself, miserably. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. You _knew_ Megatron would betray you, and you _knew_ he'd go back on his word, and you _knew _he'd shoot them down no matter what you said, so why did you have to go open your big, stupid mouth? It's not like it stopped it hurting. Now he knows everything. He's got his proof they exist, and he's got you neatly out of the way and locked up. Small stupid Skywarp, locked away where he doesn't even have to acknowledge your presence any more. _

At least they'd had the decency to leave him with a light, he noted, tucking himself into a corner to maximise the amount of room he could see, and make it look as big as possible. A small, dim, pathetic light, but more than adequate for what he wanted it for. It illuminated the entire room and reassured him that everything was stable and safe; it wasn't all tightening down on him, wasn't sucking all the air out of the place.

_Fucked things up good and proper this time, Skywarp. Should have denied they existed and sent them back the instant you realised, but noo, had to be stupid and sentimental about it. And because of that, now you've lost _everything_ – them, your wingmates, your freedom, even your damn _wings_. _

He hugged his knees, and rested his chin down on them, trembling. A tense, hot feeling had caught in the back of his throat and left him feeling like there was no air in his vents, any more. _What I'd give to swap places with Screamer. He'd know what to do._ He offlined his optics, tightened his arms, and closed his fingers into fists tight enough to make the motors smoke. _Primus. Please don't let me die, down here…_


	6. Chapter 5

**Warped - Chapter Five**

**Disclaimer:** As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** thank you all again for your lovely reviews. :)

This chapter's a teeny bit OC-centric while we move the action around, so I hope that's not too annoying…

For what it's worth, I hate hate HATE timezones. :bitchy: Why oh WHY did I have to choose to set this in places that aren't even in DAYLIGHT at the same time, most of the time?

"Okay, so if it's lunchtime in California, then in Tunisia TC will be – crap, it's dark. Oh well, dark is cool and good for walking in…"

qlock dot com is my new favourite website. I've screenshotted it to death and now have a full 24 hour shadow diagram. :P :grrs:

* * *

Thundercracker didn't think he'd _ever_ been so glad for darkness to fall. Daytime temperatures had been particularly unfriendly, hovering close to forty Celsius, and they'd 'landed' (he refused to say 'crashed') only a cycle or two before sunset. Primus only knew what degree of unbearable the temperature would get up to around midday. Gave him the surges just thinking about it.

Finding shelter was his first priority, right now. He could tolerate the intense daytime heat (just about), but the sparkling in his arms would very quickly start to suffer. The best solution would be to travel by night, when the air was pleasantly cool, and find somewhere to hide up – if there was anywhere – before dawn, so they could sit out the scorching heat of the day. Easier said than done, on what felt like the flattest bit of the whole damn planet. Why in Primus couldn't those morons have attacked them when they got to Switzerland, or something? Somewhere the environment wasn't _quite_ so fragging hostile.

Thundercracker was currently aiming for one of the Squishy villages he'd seen from the air, but it was heavy going on this barren land – the unstable crust of old salt broke under his thrusters and forced him to continually adjust his balance, and all this ground-pounding was just… argh. It was _exhausting_ work. It was taking him a whole cycle to walk the sort of distance he could fly in a hundredth of a breem.

Slipstream was curled against him, currently offline, conserving what little energon he had left in his small body. Which threw up another problem – where were they going to get fuel of _any _sort from, out here? It wasn't even as if they could camp out by a power station and draw off the grid, because there was… just… _nothing_. Nothing here at all.

_Might have to swallow my pride and call on the Autobots,_ he reminded himself, trudging along under the moonlight and listening to the salt crust _crunch_ beneath his feet. _If I don't have a solution to this by this time tomorrow, they might end up being the only option._

0o0o0o0o0

In the soggy undergrowth of her Californian National Park, Footloose waited until the sound of heavy footsteps faded right away, even on the very upper limit of her hearing sensitivity, before sneaking cautiously out of her hiding place. If their assailants came back, she reasoned, she'd hear them. Such big machines were physically incapable of _sneaking_, they rattled and clunked and had thudding squelchy footsteps on the wet ground, and (so far as she knew) they couldn't teleport, either, so she would be able to escape them easily enough. Besides, her guardian needed to give her instructions, because she didn't know what to do, and he couldn't tell her while she was still hiding.

The rain had grown heavier, leaving the grass slippery and puddled with murky water. She made her careful way across the clearing, navigating around the biggest pools, but she was already so filthy it wouldn't have made much difference if she _had _fallen.

"Sta'zim?" she whispered, crawling closer and inspecting the dark, silent face. Her own moisture seals were all intact, but it looked like there were several places across Starscream's poor dented armour that water had got in through. "Wake up?" She patted his nose, and jumped back when a corona of blue electrical discharge stung her hand.

Still, it had the desired effect. His optics flickered, once, twice, and finally stayed online – but not with their usual crimson brilliance. They were a low, dark maroon, barely lit. "Footloose," he creaked, quietly, vocaliser unsteady. "You should be… be getting… away… from here. They might… might come back."

"Get away where?" She sat back on her heels, glumly. "You come with? Show me?"

He forced a smile, although it was more of a bared-denta grimace. He already felt half-flooded, several dozen surface components shorting out as rain got under his armour, and the idea of getting up and _walking_ was… just… well, it wasn't going to happen. It pained him to admit it, but he was pretty helpless, right now. _Increasing core destability_, his diagnostics reported. _Five-point-two percent water seals failed. Use of desiccant advised. Remove from current environment and take corrective measures_. "You'll have to manage… without me, for… _khnn_… for a while," he rasped, feeling the low staticky sizzle of electrical discharge across his shoulders. "I'm not going to beeee… be going anywh-… anywhere."

She fidgeted, and gazed around herself. "Where I should go, Sta'zim?" she wondered, quietly. "How I get home?"

"Find-… find Thundercracker-…" he explained, trying to prop himself on his one functioning arm so he could give her his sternest glare. A vivid blue electrical discharge simmered and snapped like an obscene halo around his dark head as the rain battered them from across the clearing. "He'll-… get you to saf-… safety."

"_I_ fine Dacker?" she wondered, anxiously, trying to crawl closer, but not _so_ close the crackling discharge disabled her as well. "But not here!"

"Here's his-… last co-ordinates…"

A weak chit of inaudible data pinged faintly against her firewalls. She made sure it was saved in her primary core, where she wouldn't risk overwriting it with useless sensory readings.

"…find him," he insisted, elbow buckling. "Or put out a signnzz-…" His voice briefly fizzed out to static, but he struggled on. "A homing signal he can-… can pick up."

"Long way away," she reminded, quietly, triangulating the data against her current position, and watching as the discharge finally began to weaken and peter out, shimmering away down his wings and off the back of his thrusters. Her little homing beacon was good enough to tease Slipstream with, in their noisy games of hide-and-seek across the district back home, but not good enough to get all the way to Thundercracker. "How I find?"

"Get help if you need-…" His words shivered back into static for a moment; his brow furrowed in concentration and he struggled on. "…if you need it. You mussnnn… mustn't stay… alone…" His last words faded out in a long, thin, staticky groan, and his ruddy maroon optics finally flickered over to grey. He slumped with a low crunch of broken vegetation back into the undergrowth, and this time stayed there.

"Sta'zim?" she whined, softly, climbing across his broken wings. Experience dictated that would _usually_ get a response from him – usually a very _loud_ one – like when she elected to go and wake him up of a morning, but he didn't even grumble. "Wake up," she pleaded, rubbing her cheek against his audio vent. "Wake up!"

She lurked close to him for a very long hour and seven minutes, hoping for a response, but he remained completely inert, no matter what she did, and eventually she gave up trying, sitting sadly on her little aft in the mud, tucking herself close to his shoulder vent. She didn't like this world very much. It was all dirt and wet and danger, and when she looked up, all she could see was a load of grey nothing, and falling droplets of water that blurred her vision. No lovely stars, no big beautiful skies.

_Have to go_, she told herself. _Need_ to go,and not only because she'd been told she had to. If she stayed, Pointy and Silver might come back, and she didn't want to get caught. She didn't want Sta'zim getting smashed up any more, either, and she already had the vague sense it was all something to do with her. She carefully arranged a few bits of broken vegetation over her guardian's fallen form, using some of the branches he himself had torn down in his rough landing, trying to hide the dull red and scuffed silver of his external plating. It wasn't a great solution, but maybe it'd keep the Suishies from finding him until she found Dacker. Dacker would know what to do, because he was smart, like Sta'zim. He'd be able to get him made better. Then they could go back to Day, and find Ama, and everything would be all right again. She hummed consolingly to herself.

Reviewing her memory record, she located a number of potentials places to go first of all. There were a lot of places that Suishies had built things, which she wanted to avoid, but there were roads, as well. Roads full of Autobots! She brightened. That could work. She knew Autobots and Decepticons didn't usually get on, but she wasn't either, she was both! And Sta'zim had said to get help if she needed it, and she didn't have to say what she was looking for…

"I come back," she promised, rubbing cheeks with him, then after satisfying herself he was suitably well hidden, she checked her bearings, and set off in the vaguely south-easterly direction that corresponded with Thundercracker's distant location.

0o0o0o0o0

Even as night drew in and forced Footloose to halt her own journey, away on the west coast of the United States, the sun had come up in Tunisia, and was dealing out an unfriendly greeting to the two machines still trapped in the salt desert.

_Never ever thought I'd wish I was Skywarp._

The absurdity of the thought almost made Thundercracker laugh out loud, but it was the third time since the sun had risen that he'd caught himself wishing he had Skywarp's spatial awareness. Fact of the matter was, this sort of thing was Skywarp's speciality, and not just by merit of his teleport, it was very rare that he didn't know where he was in relation to everything else, right down to the very fraction of a degree of latitude and longitude. Thundercracker knew his wingmate sometimes _loathed _the fact his head was full of maps and not much else, but if Skywarp were here, there was no way he'd have got this… _lost_. He'd have been all, well, there's a power station, telecommunications mast, shelter, all avoiding human contact as much as possible, join the dots and there's your route, what are you complaining for? Easy.

The blue Seeker's own maps weren't bad, but they were very basic, stripped-down almost to the point of being useless. The village he'd glimpsed from the air – which he'd _hoped_ would be a good place to shelter from the sun – turned out to mostly be flat, all low roofs and confined spaces, and full of frightened humans that either fled from his approach, or else pelted him with rocks in an effort to scare him off. Nowhere for injured Seekers to hide from the heat. Nowhere for tired sparklings to charge their depleted systems. Unwilling to waste energy fighting them to stay somewhere so inappropriate anyway, he'd left the humans alone, and turned away to find somewhere better.

They set out along the desert, parallel to the human-built causeway, heading away across the salt flat at something of an angle to their original flight-path. The blue Seeker knew there were more small desert towns around, and he was fairly sure that they weren't too far away to get to, but his inability to escape the unrelenting heat was putting a dampener on his confidence.

"Hot," Slipstream commented, quietly, for the umpteenth time, looking uncomfortable and floppy. His small body contained a lot less coolant than the big Seeker, and venting excess heat was getting difficult.

"I know," Thundercracker agreed, already directing refrigerated air downwards out of his vents and trying to keep his small charge in the shade of his own chassis, and added, hoping to reassure the infant; "But we've had half the day. It'll start to get cool again soon."

It was a bit of a useless lie – the air temperature alone was already hovering close to fifty Celsius, and it was not even noon quite yet – and the mech sensed the sparkling knew it, but Slipstream hummed a quiet appreciation in response anyway. He knew Thundercracker was doing his best, even if it didn't feel like it. Pouring cold air out of his vents in an effort to keep the little one from burning any of his relays right out didn't seem to be helping a whole lot, because Slipstream was still sorely heatsick and unable to do anything except just lay there, but Thundercracker kept it up just in case. It might be all that made the difference between keeping him functioning, and melting out a cortical relay.

Running his refrigerant loop in reverse was increasing Thundercracker's core temperature, as well, so he too was suffering, running a high resistance and feeling sluggish in the heat, unable to keep up the impressive pace he'd managed during the night. He had increased coolant flow to his cortex, keeping his neural pathways optimally chilled, but his black helm was soaking up the sun's unfriendly heat like a solar sponge and the rest of his body was so hot it was responding only very slowly to neural commands. Even his spark was hot, and it felt like molten lead in his chest, each tiny shift in harmonic sending a thudding wave of pressure through its casing. He wondered abstractly if it was what it felt like to be with sparkling, and reaffirmed his desire _never _to go experimenting to confirm/deny it. _What in the Pit must it have been like with _two_ of them in there…?_

Ahead of them there was a pool of pinkish liquid in a depression in the sand, ringed around with a crumbling white crust of sand. At first Thundercracker was happily convinced it was just another mirage – one didn't have to be biological to have the shimmering, twisting air play tricks on you – until the sand creaked beneath his thrusters and his foot slumped away underneath him, and he found himself ankle-deep in it.

"Pink," Slipstream observed, drowsily, gazing down at his broken reflection. He was slumped across Thundercracker's arm, limbs dangling as though belonging to a puppet with broken strings, heat shimmering up off him. "Energon? I have?"

"I think that's just water," Thundercracker demurred, softly. It was a murky, browny sort of pink, and he felt inclined to say he'd eat his one remaining wing if it _was_ fuel… but the way things were going right now… In his long life, he'd seen stranger things than pools of rarified fuel in the middle of the desert.

Keeping the sparkling carefully trapped against his chest, Thundercracker stooped to dabble his dark fingers into the pinkish liquid, and mouthed one of the droplets, running the fluid carefully across the analytical plates in the roof of his mouth. "Yeah, it's just salty water," he confirmed, tiredly, feeling tiny grains forming across the dry roof of his main intakes. "_Very_ salty! You'll crystallise up your pumps, if you go trying to drink this."

Slipstream grumbled quietly in disappointment. "It cold?"

"No. Not cold at all." Thundercracker lifted his foot back onto the flat, and wobbled precariously as the salt shifted under his bulk. "We'll find somewhere, Seem. Even if I have to bury us in a sand-dune."

Turning parallel to the causeway once again, the two lost, overheating machines put the pool of faux-energon behind them, and headed deeper into the unknown.

0o0o0o0o0

"Boss? Hey, boss? Mitch? I think I got something!"

Mitch – Darren Mitchell – cast a single depreciating glance at the speaker before rearranging his feet more comfortably on the table and releasing his cigarette briefly from his lips. "This better be good," he threatened, flicking ash into the playful wind that scudded down off the mountainside. "I'm not going on no more of your stupid wild goose chases across the desert."

"Promise you, this is good," the radio operator reassured, grinning up at him from the old crystal set, twiddling tuning dials and pressing the headphone harder into his ear. "I think this is what we've been waitin' for."

"Praise the lord," Mitchell drawled, unimpressed, and threw up his hands in a parody of rejoicing, but didn't actually bother getting up. "Let's hear it, then. I was beginning to think we was never gonna get out of this dustbowl."

'Dustbowl' was a bit of an unfair description – Chebika was a lush little oasis close to Tunisia's border with Algeria. It was a nice enough place to spend a few hours, sure – it was quiet, rich with fruiting palms, and there was a spring up in the mountains so there was plenty of fresh water – but they'd been lurking here for over a week now, and the general consensus of opinion was that if they had to eat _just one more stinking date_, Mitchell would have a mutiny on his hands.

No-one seriously thought this plan was gonna work, anyway. It was some stupid half-assed idea in the first place, what the hell they were still sat here hoping for a feeking _miracle _for was anyone's guess. The gist of it was that if they sat here long enough, broadcasting a juicy enough signal and cooking up some cock-and-bull story about an exciting new energy source, one of those parasitic Decepticons would eventually buzz past to check it out. And when they were close enough, _wham_! The butterfly would be in the net, and on its way to the Collector down in Egypt. Which one they happened to actually _get_ in this first strike didn't matter, so long as they got one. The Collector was ultimately after one of them in particular, but had explained that whether they got that one or one he could use as bait, he didn't mind.

On _Mitchell's _side, no-one really cared so long as they got _paid_. No-one apart from Mitchell had actually _met_ their employer – he was just a severe voice on the radio, with tones as hoarse and irritable as if someone had taken a piece of sharkskin to his vocal cords – and Mitchell himself had the idea that it was for the best they didn't know. Not like anyone would believe him if he told them who he was, anyway.

"Gonna spill it any time soon, Faulkner? Another rusted old wartime aircraft in an abandoned airport?" Mitchell challenged, sitting forwards, when the radio operator failed to be forthcoming with his report.

Faulkner didn't rise to the bait – concentrating deeply. "No, no, listen, Boss…" He beckoned with one hand and twiddled the tuning dial on his antique receiver on the other, using his shoulder to keep an oversized headphone pressed snug against his ear. That was just typical of their luck; it was the only bit of kit they had still working, outside of the device in the second truck. All the modern radio receivers had packed in within the space of a week. "Some guy in Cedada's found something. Sounds significant."

"Define 'significant'." Mitchell glared down on him.

By way of answer, the radio operator silently handed over the headphone.

The babble of his crew's voices drowned out anything coming over the weak headphone. "Shut up, you lot," he scolded, jamming a finger into his other ear and frowning in concentration. The thin voices over the radio narrowed down to just two, barely audible; Mitchell twiddled irritably at the dial and lost them altogether, briefly, before finally getting something almost coherent.

"…it has come here from the depths of the Chott El Djerid itself!" a frightened male voice quailed out of the static. "Here to kill us all- Minister, you must save us!"

"Has it attacked you?" a calmer voice challenged, sternly.

"No, not yet, not yet. It is sitting on the outskirts, by my cousin's water pump – waiting for its friends, no doubt! Please, minister, send someone! Destroy this blue monster before it can attack us!"

"Be calm, councillor. We will assess the level of threat, and we will send someone. Do not provoke it."

"Easily said, and not easily achieved! What if it should choose to attack us, what chance do we stand against a giant machine like this?"

"Do not. Provoke it," the minister repeated, firmly. "And we will send someone…"

"Hey, Vallory? How far away would you say Cedada is?" Mitchell wondered, grimly, setting the headphone to one side.

"Ehh, 'bout 30, 40 miles, along the P16." The weaselly-looking man looked up from his map, and shrugged. "We could get there in under an hour."

"Good, good. All right, you lot, listen up! This could be the chance we're looking for." Mitchell straightened and gave his ragtag crew a stern look. "Everyone pack up your gear and check these old crates are fuelled up. I'll call in with the Collector, check how close his operative is, and we'll get moving in-…" He checked his watch. "-an hour and twenty. We'll meet up with 'em in Cedada, and should be done before we lose the light. Now let's get to it!"

0o0o0o0o0

"I don't like this, Hack. Something's gone wrong. They should be here by now!"

Hiding just out of range of Shockwave's monitoring devices, Hardline gave Forceps a sidelong look. "Give them a bit longer," he soothed. "They're probably just late."

If Hardline could be said to be at position south, Celerity and Vector had taken station at east and west, respectively, and Spotweld was in the distant north. They'd settled a cycle or two before the intended delivery time, but it was now a good half-orn after, and still nothing. Everyone had a good field of view, and absolutely nothing had happened. No sparklings, no Seekers, no nothing. The space bridge had only operated twice, and their readings suggested they were low-level, low density transits – empty energon cubes, energy bracers, old chemical drums.

"Now, there's late, and there's _late_," Forceps corrected, darkly. "What could possibly have held them up this long? Does Nightsun have anything?"

Hardline shook his head, distractedly. The helicopter had reported in only a breem or two ago; his team had decrypted the communication over the secure channels Shockwave was using, and there had been no report of captured younglings, or anything else of note.

"I hope this doesn't mean we have to take matters into our own hands," the tank commented, dryly.

Forceps bit her lip. "I don't like the sound of that," she murmured, honestly. "We've lost enough of our number already, I don't want you vanishing off to Primus-knows-where as well."

0o0o0o0o0

As promised, the Collector's operative met them in Cedada. He was a skittish little man, with wild, sandy hair and nervous eyes, and drove a beat-up navy-coloured delivery truck that looked like it had seen far better days. Frankly, Mitchell was impressed he'd made it here in time, but he wasn't going to argue with him right now. They had bigger things in mind. _Much _bigger things...

"Is that it?"

Mitchell glanced sidelong at Vallory, his flatbed-driver. "What do you think? Know many giant aeroplane-robots, do you?" he replied, witheringly.

"Just wanted to be sure." Vallory brushed the insult away with barely a batted eyelash. "It's a pretty big dude, ain't it? I hope we can get it on the flatbed."

The pair of them lurked just out of direct sight behind a wall, sheltered by palm branches, inspecting the target. They'd been welcomed with open arms by the people of Cedada, after a bit of quick-wittedness implied they were the government officials sent to remove the robot problem, and it felt like quite literally half the town showed them where the invader had settled.

As they'd heard over the radio, the blue robot sat next to a water pump, partially shaded by a stand of date palms and a rickety old warehouse, but it didn't look like it was the water it was after. A fine cable ran from a port on its side, just at the rim of the blue torso, and hooked into the purring generator which should instead have been pumping water.

_Guess it's hungry_, Mitchell thought, approaching warily. It looked fairly placid, right now, but that was no guarantee it'd _stay _placid. Those purple smudges on its wings were Decepticon emblems, after all, and the cannons on its arms were as long as he was tall.

The robot gave them a long, slow stare, but didn't react to their presence in any other way; it looked either _bored_, or _hot_, or _tired_, or all three. Its eyes were dull damson lights in its pale face, and the air shimmered above it, the low growl of straining air-con fans poisoning the air. Plus, Mitchell noticed, one wing stopped abruptly at about half the length of the one on the opposite side, and there were great gouges and fractures in the scuffed paintwork. Someone had done half the job for them, he considered. Stroke of luck!

"Okay, guys," he called back over his shoulder, quietly. "Bring the truck."

"What do you want, human?" a heavy bass voice rumbled out, and Mitchell looked back up to find the robot had stirred, straightened its back and flexed its arms, bringing its cannons up into a defensive position.

"Only to talk," Mitchell promised, lying through his back teeth and hoping the robot wouldn't understand what his crossed fingers meant as he lifted his hands, palms out, trying to maintain a placatory appearance. "Our employer asked us to bring you a message."

The robot lifted its chin, belligerently, and directed its weapons more closely at its visitor. "I have no interest in anything you have to tell me, human. Leave me be, and I might spare you."

Mitchell listened as one of his drivers backed their truck into the clear spot just past the gates behind him. "I don't think you should threaten me, Decepticon," he instructed, amiably. "We don't take kindly to your sort around here, and I'd hate for things to go that much worse for you."

"I hope that wasn't intended as a threat, human, because I think you'll find I'm quite capable of defending myself against _your _primitive technology." The robot was already looking up and away at the truck, and watching as the men shed the sides of it away to reveal something pointy and covered in tarpaulins.

"Who says we've only brought our own technology with us?"

The robot had already lost interest in Mitchell's words; it had lurched unsteadily to its feet, apparently recognising exactly what it was the men had yanked the tarpaulins off – a great big gleaming fuckoff EM-cannon, kindly donated by their employer and more than powerful enough to incapacitate half a city block - and was going into the offensive, arms coming up, weapons filling the air with a teeth-grinding whine of static electricity as they charged-

Mitchell span to see Vallory dithering on the back of the truck, taking his sweet time about targeting the EM-cannon. "Just _fire _the fucking thing, Vallory!" he howled, frustratedly. One more second and the robot would have beaten off the heat-sluggishness, and got its own shots in-

Vallory's shot went a little wide, slamming down not in the dead-centre of the robot's chest but on the front of its shoulder, just underneath one of those pylon-vents, but it had the desired effect. The blue giant's eyes flashed briefly blue as the charge coursed through its skull and onwards down its body, then it toppled very slowly backwards, landing on the roof of the rickety warehouse with an almighty crash of splintering glass and twisting metal.

"Ha!" Mitchell resisted the urge to crow, watching out of the corner of his eye as Vallory punched the air. "Right! It's down, we've got maybe… thirty minutes before it's back up! Let's get it secured, and quick…"

"What's the rush, Mitch?" Faulkner wondered, watching as Mitchell clambered up the wreckage, angle-grinder in hand. "We've killed it, right?"

"_Killed _it? Ha! Have you ever seen what effect an EMP has on one of these guys?" Mitchell challenged, applying the cutting blade to the tough blue alloys and gritting his teeth at the earsplitting _squeal_ that ensued. Sparks flew up around him from the butchered metal as he hacked the cannons away from their mountings on the powerful arms.

"No, boss, I ain't," Faulkner replied, yelling to be heard over the ruckus. "I figured it'd just... wipe its brain, like what happens to everything else computerly."

"Exactly, and you're wrong. The correct answer, if you were wondering, is that it does _sweet fuck all_, in the long run." The ringleader paused, and wiped his brow, grimly. "I saw them take out one of these flying bastards back in the US, when I was still in the whole spying game – zapped it with some sort of EMP thingamajigger, and thought it was permanently incapacitated, and fuck me if the bastard didn't get up half an hour later like a bear with a sore head, shot the installation to hell and flew off like all they'd done was trip it over!" He kicked at the top margin of the cannon, and after a few seconds swearing and stomping and jumping his entire weight up and down on it, the last connective cables tore free with a low _shrrrp _and splatter of eerie lilac fluid, and the weapon fell away to the ground. "I don't feel like sitting waiting round for it to get up again…"

In the background, Vallory had already parked their flatbed, and now he was kicking his heels, sitting on a wall by the well and chewing on a date, irritably. He wanted to get his own kicks in, but there were already too many pairs of hands around the robot, and he'd suffered a good enough wallop to his left hand to bring it up in a bruise already. He was just flicking his lighter and trying to get his rollup to light when the rapidly departing sun glinted off something glossy black.

"What's that, then?" he asked himself, tucking the cigarette behind his ear and examining the wreckage that had spilled away from the ruined warehouse. Looked too well-made to be some of the antique crap the owner had kept in the tumbledown old building… He applied his good hand under the twisted sheet of corrugated steel, and hauled it out of the way… and gawped silently at what he'd found for a full five seconds. "Whoa," he stammered, excitedly. "Holy shit, there's two of them? Hey! Hey, Mitch? Mitch! I found something!"

0o0o0o0o0

On the other side of the world, morning had just begun to break over a soggy, dirty Footloose. The little femme had kept on in as straight a line as she could manage, the previous day, until it got too dark to be safe to go any further. Even her keen night vision wasn't good enough to discern between all the different cold objects, and after falling over things hidden under the vegetation twice and into a river once, she elected to halt for the night. She'd scrambled through a rickety fence and into an electricity substation, hunkered down next to the big voltage transformers where it was dry and cosy, and allowed herself to lapse into recharge with her pickups snugged into one of the low-voltage sets. Her last conscious thoughts were of how she didn't like this world. It was damp and dirty and full of obstacles and dangerous Suishies.

"Hey, Goldie, wait! Wait! Here, girl!"

The little high voice roused her hastily from recharge. Drat! Found? She had intended to keep her consciousness from ebbing to too low a state of dormancy, so she could be awake and slipping away to safety before anyone found her, but something had obviously not worked the way she wanted. She remained frozen where she was, and watched as a medium-sized four-legged yellow animal bounded past the fence, hotly pursued by a small Suishie. It was a small one, even shorter than she was; her uneducated optic considered it must be very juvenile. She remained as still as possible, hoping it would pass by without seeing her, but the freckles of purple visible under her layer of mud caught its eye and it came right up to the fence.

"Oh! Hi. What you doing in there?" it called out to her. "You should come out of there! Mommy says people shouldn't go through the fence, they'll get hurt! Lectrics can kill you!"

Ooh, she didn't like the sound of that. Whatever 'lectrics' were, they must be a pretty dangerous species if they killed Suishies. Maybe that was why the fence was around them, to keep them inside? She hastily orped herself to the correct side of the bars, more worried about being caught by them than this small biological.

"Hi!" The little Suishie approached her, all smiles. She felt a flicker of reassurance; maybe it wasn't big enough to be dangerous yet. "I'm Eric. I'm six! Who are you?"

She gave him a critical look. This _was _a puzzling species. "Six of what? Only see single."

"Six years old, silly," Eric giggled. "What are you? Are you a robot?"

"I Seeker," Footloose replied, earnestly, and was pleased to realise that for the first time it was actually an accurate description. She _was_ seeking help. "Name Button. Look for Dacker!"

"Eric? Where are ya? If you've let Goldie run off again Mom will _kill_ me..." In the middle distance, she could hear a slightly rougher version of the same voice calling, and after a moment another Suishie appeared out of the vegetation. "What are you do- whoa!" He jumped back at seeing Footloose, and she in turn had to work hard on not making a run for it, alarmed. "Where did you find that?!"

"This is Button," Eric introduced. "She was in the lectric place. I saved her!"

"Safe from lectrics," Footloose agreed, warily, watching the new Suishie. He was bigger, ergo (she guessed) he was probably older. Maybe he could help her? It was beginning to look like a reasonable assumption that since not all Decepticons were bad, maybe not all Suishies were bad either. "Help me fine Dacker?" she wondered, gazing hopefully up at him.

"Help you do what what?" he responded, incomprehensibly.

"Dacker far away. Is lost! Must get to. Help me?" she repeated, wishing Seem was here to help out; he'd contextualised the Suishie language better and would be able to get the point across. Language had always been what he was better at.

"_What_ have you lost?" The big sparkling frowned at her.

"Dacker! Big Blue." She waved her arms to imply bigness. "Is Seeker!"

"Erf. I don't know what a dacker is," he apologised, scratching his head. "Er. Um, look, okay, maybe my parents will know what to do with you. You're an Autobot, right? Always figured you'd be bigger."

"Not Autobot," she corrected, letting him take her hand. "Ama is." She studied the fingers of her free hand, glumly. "Ama lost."

"Hrf. Sounds like you're not having a great time of it," the Suishie said, as they slithered down the gravel slope and past a board covered in incomprehensible writing. "Well, this is our neighbourhood park, I figure we might have a map at the car-park. We were here so as we could walk Goldie now the rain's stopped, but Eric always lets her run off."

"Do not," Eric argued, sullenly, slithering past them on the muddy grass, and the pale yellow animal bounded past _him_, a long bit of wet stick poking sideways out of its mouth and its fans making great huffing noises as it ran. "See, she's already back!"

Footloose studied the animal, briefly. "Is not gold, is yellow," she corrected, earnestly, watching as Eric tugged the stick out of its mouth and threw it.

"Hey, Dad? Uncle Jeff?" the big Suishie sparkling called out, and two larger Suishies - adults? - looked up at them from across the gravel parking area. "Do you know what a dacker is?"

The smaller of the two jumped up, and banged its head on the roof of the Autobot it was sitting in. "Holy crap! Where did you get _that_, Liam?!"

"Eric found her," Liam argued, defensively. "Just up the hill, by the substation. I think she's lost. Says she's looking for something."

"Wow," the larger of the two adults said, softly, carefully walking once around Footloose and examining her from a distance. "Look at the technology on that thing..." He glanced up, and gave the bigger of the Suishie sparklings a hard look. "Where'd you find it, Liam? Did you steal it?"

"Not stole," Footloose explained. "Say to help fine Dacker." More Suishies were approaching now, she could see them out of the periphery of her vision. She didn't much like it, and removed her hand from Liam's. "Should go," she said, quietly, backing away.

"No need to be scared, kid," one of the newcomers reassured, but she didn't like the way they were crowding her in. There was murmuring between the distant Suishies; she perked her head and elevated the sensitivity on her hearing. (Politely pretending to have not noticed was never going to be an option.)

_We could sell it to Microsoft_, she heard one say to the other. _Or a laboratory or something. I bet they'd pay a fortune for access to that sort of technology. We could make a mint!_

She didn't know what all of that meant, but knew selling her couldn't be good – after a quick review of the rudimentary Suishie dictionary Dacker had showed her, she discovered that 'mints' were items of confectionary, eaten by Suishies. They wanted to sell her to turn her into food?!

She backed off, hastily, wanting a clear spot to triangulate a safe place to orp herself to, not watching where she was going, and bumped into something soft that made a quiet _oof! _of surprise. She glanced behind herself to find she'd walked into another Suishie – this one was more brightly coloured, with long tendrils hanging off its head and paint on its face. A quick cross-reference suggested this was a femme.

"Well, hey there, sweetheart," the femme greeted, with a smile. "What's got you so anxious?"

Footloose jumped, alarmed, and backed away from the newcomer as well. "Not make into candy-sweets!" she instructed, trying to be firm, but her voice wobbled a little and she kept backing away.

"What?" the femme frowned. "Why would we do that, little one?"

"They sake make of mint." She pointed at the other Suishies. "And you say have 'sweet heart'. Spark not sweet, not edible!"

The femme smiled. "Aw, they're just colloquialisms. Analogies." The femme looked up at the little crowd. "It's okay, guys," she elevated her voice to be heard over the hubbub. "We know where she's trying to get to. We'll take it from here, okay?"

There was a murmur of irritation from the other Suishies, but they filtered away, slowly, and Footloose felt her little alarm shields gradually dropping back down to a nonalert status. They weren't crowing her in, any more, and the femme was being friendly, had saved her! "Know how to get to Dacker?" she asked, curiously. This was the sort of thing she'd been looking for! New friends, and a way to get to her missing relative.

"Of course we do!" The femme smiled. "But it's a long way away, we're going to have to drive. Okay?" The femme led her to a scuffed red Autobot in the corner of the car-park, its rear door standing open, and next to which a scruffy, blue Suishie mech with sandy-coloured head-fuzz stood

"Come on, hon," the female Suishie said, encouragingly. "Jump in."

"What 'hon'?" Footloose asked, peering down into the vehicle's boot. "Am Button, not hon."

"Ah, um… well, it's a term of endearment. A colloquialism."

"Like… sweet heart?" Footloose looked up at her, and the femme patted her head, amusedly.

"Exactly like it," she agreed, smiling.

Footloose settled down in the boot and let them arrange a blanket over her. She peeked over the hem at her new friends. "Why cover?"

"We don't want any of those other nasty people finding you, do we?" the female reassured, with a smile, petting the stubby aerials on either side of her head, comfortingly. "They may try to steal you away and make you into candies!"

Footloose clicked agreement, and huddled deeper into the vehicle. Didn't want to be stolen! Particularly didn't want to be turned into confectionary. The petting of her aerials was nice, though. She hummed an appreciative harmonic, and the femme smiled.

"All secure?"

The blanket nodded.

"I'm going to close the door now, all right?"

Another nod.

There was a low _clunk_ and the Autobot bounced very softly on its suspension as the large door closed. Footloose listened as the Suishies got in as well, and the reassuring purr of engines as the Autobot ground its way over the gravel and out onto the smooth asphalt. The Autobot hadn't answered any of her clicks of greeting, and she wondered if it was scared of her. Maybe it thought she was all Decepticon, not just half? _Am Autobot also_, she reassured, clicking quietly, but it stayed silent. Hm. Maybe she'd hurt its feelings, sitting in its transit compartment without saying hello first… She'd have to make it up to it later...

* * *

Annnd... we're about up to the present. Phew! At last.


	7. Chapter 6

**Warped - Chapter Six**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N: **just so people are aware, it's NaNoWriMo coming up, very soon (starts on the 1st November), and I have plans to get a sequel to my last year's NaNo worked on (original fiction, so it won't be uploaded here). I sense I will fail miserably at it, because I have Seekers on the brain, still, buut… it doesn't hurt to be optimistic. ;)

Secondly, in my profile I have linked to some more lovely art I have been given. :) If you could all go and give it love, that would be good… ;)

* * *

Footloose didn't much like this. She was no stranger to being ignored – Auntie Sepp used it as a 'punishment' to calm her down when she was being particularly excitable – but something about _this_ made her… uneasy. They were talking, but quietly, just like her family did when they didn't want her to hear, when _she_ was in trouble or _they_ were in trouble or… She increased the sensitivity on her hearing, and listened in. Was she in trouble? Why were they speaking so quietly? Were they scared of her? She tightened her fingers in the blanket, uneasily. Shouldn't be scared of _her_, she was really little and harmless. Maybe they just didn't want to disturb her, she consoled herself. Perhaps they thought she needed to recharge and defrag some more.

"So where are we going, again?" the femme wondered, quietly.

"There's a science park up in Oregon, an hour or two out from Portland, right?" a gruff voice replied, which Footloose assumed to belong to the mech. "I know some folk at a technology institute up there. They weren't too happy with the short notice, but they've agreed to keep ahold of it until we've sorted out what we're gonna do with it."

"Hm." The femme sounded dubious. "Wouldn't it be better to go back to the university where your cousin works? I trust him better than some of your 'contacts', some of 'em would screw you over soon as look at you."

"Ach, that's right on the east coast, it'll take us forever to get there if we try and drive it. I don't want to risk it escaping before we get there."

"You think it might?"

"If we're not careful, sure. And will you shush about it? I don't want you spooking it!"

"Ah, come off it, it's in the trunk, it's not going to go anywhere."

Were they talking about her? Footloose wound the blanket more tightly down on herself, quivering. Her pumps were jittery. She trusted that they weren't, because they kept saying 'it' and she wasn't a thing, but then they may be trying to mislead her. It had been a bad idea to go with these Suishies, they didn't seem so friendly any more. They didn't seem to know where they were going, either. They said they knew where Dacker was, and how to get to him, but they were going _the wrong way_. So unless they had misunderstood, and thought she was looking for someone else, they were making untruths. Why would they lie to her? That wasn't a nice thing to do, and she hadn't been bad, didn't need telling off or punishing or anything! Why would they do that?

She needed to think logically about it, like Ausep was always telling Uncle Hack to do. There was always an alternative explanation that needn't necessarily be bad. These Suishies were adults, they were cleverer than her, and it was… _possible_, she reasoned, trying to keep her insides cool but feeling her core temperature rising, frightened… that they were going somewhere like to an airport. Because if her very basic knowledge of Erth geography was right, there was a big bit of _wet_ in between her and TC, and this Autobot didn't seem to have wings, and they'd have to get across it somehow.

She'd wait, she decided. When they next stopped, she'd ask them where they were going, and if it wasn't to an airport, she'd escape. She could work out _where_ she was later.

0o0o0o0o0

Although he didn't know it, yet, Thundercracker was already somewhere in Libya when he finally began to come round. He gave a soft, electronic moan of pain, and lay as still as possible, hoping the hurts would just go away all on their own. There was pain all down his arms, and his diagnostics reported damage and missing components – of course, they'd took his weapons. Minimised the level of threat he posed. He could still smash them up pretty well, given the chance – frag it, squishies were so delicate, just one good _kick_ would probably take a dozen of them out at once – but it looked like they weren't about to give him the option of that, either.

If he'd been unsure of his location before, now he was _totally _lost. It was dark, to start with, and he seemed to be on a truck, of some sort – the pervasive rumbling around him sounded like the groan of wheels on poor-quality asphalt, and the low vibrations seemed to agree, buzzing through his wings with the right frequency. He lay on his front, staring at the scuffed metal plate he lay on, anchored in such a way that his wings trapped his arms, and some sort of metallic bands encircled his ankles, waist and shoulders and held him immobile. He figured they weren't particularly sturdy, but with his energy depleted, and still suffering after-effects from the heat and electrical disturbance, he couldn't get enough _strength_ or _weight_ behind them to break them. Even if he'd been able to lift his head very far, he doubted he'd have been able to see much – there was an odd rustling under the roar of engines and tyres, and he figured he must have some sort of covering over him, to disguise his outline and hide him from prying eyes.

Rerouting pathways was going to take time; they'd yanked hard on subdermal circuitry and a number of semi-critical systems had been severed, in their efforts to remove his weaponry. It was going to take a fair while to regain the full range of mobility in his arms and hands, but if he concentrated on it, with luck he'd be done before they got to wherever it was they were going, and may stand a fraction of a chance of defending himself.

…if, of course, they gave him the chance to do so, which felt… unlikely. They had been well organised, for a change, so this must have been in the works for some time. And where in Primus' name had they got a Cybertronian EM-cannon? Because there was no way they'd have just… invented it, all by themselves.

And… damn. A quick close-range ping revealed Slipstream was gone – of course. He must have been what the humans were after. An ideal specimen. Small, portable, easy to study. Maybe the little one was _all_ they were after, and they were just shipping _him_ away somewhere to keep him out of the way, like a foundry. By the time he'd normally have recovered, he'd have already been smelted down and turned into girders, or something. He shuddered in spite of himself. _Stay positive, stay positive_. If they were going to kill him, they'd have done it already – they obviously wanted him alive. For what reason, he didn't want to even try and imagine, but at least it gave him some room to think…

0o0o0o0o0

Their convoy was the most mismatched clustering of vehicles conceivable, Mitchell considered, feet up on the dash of the Collector's truck, flicking ash out into the cool night-time air. At the front of the long crocodile of vehicles was his own beloved little sporty red number, being driven by one of his most trusted aides (ha, right), then came four heavy trucks and a low-loader – to which their precious cargo had been secured – and after them were a dozen or so smaller trucks and tankers, the actual number remaining fluid to keep law-enforcement attention to a minimum. And somewhere – _somewhere_ in this mess… was another of those robot-vehicles. _He_ knew which it was, of course, but kept the specifics to himself. (It was easier to keep his staff in line if they were in continual fear of their vehicle listening in to their plotting.) He himself was with the Collector's aide, the small truck following closely behind the low-loader.

The little one had been an unexpected windfall. If the Collector didn't want it – which was actually kinda likely, he'd not once even mentioned it – then they could sell it, and _damn_, was that ever some impressive stuff it could do! That'd hike the price up by more than double, for sure. Catching the little bugger had been a nightmare; it had run circles around them, disappearing and reappearing as if by magic in different locations before they could get close enough to grab it. The instant they realised it wasn't actually running _away_, just in big circles, it got easier to track – Vallory reckoned the two machines must be connected somehow, and it didn't want to leave it, and in spite of the rude snickers at the idea the little one was somehow the big one's kid, it did seem likely they had _some_ point of commonality. Finally catching it _did_ require use of the EM-cannon, on as low a power as they could get it to go; it woke up _very_ quickly, but they'd already got a loop of spare chain around its neck and that seemed to be enough to stop it teleporting.

The little one was incredibly obedient, once they'd shown it the fallen, pinioned form of its giant 'cousin' and explained in no uncertain terms that it'd be joining it if it kicked up a ruckus. The loop of chain around its neck seemed to be sufficient to prevent it from teleporting, as well – it didn't seem able to teleport itself _out _of it, and restricting its mobility meant that even if it _could_ teleport, it couldn't _go_ very far without coming to a grinding halt.

It sat next to him in the cab of the scuffed little navy delivery truck, watching the moonlit tarpaulins fluttering on the low-loader in front, its little face creased up in dismay. It was a very quiet thing – whether that was because it didn't know much English, or was just too scared to talk, Mitchell didn't know, and didn't much care, either. So long as it was well-behaved and quiet.

0o0o0o0o0

The sun had just passed its zenith when they finally stopped. Footloose was about to ask what was going on, to reassure herself everything was fine, but the two Suishies got out of the Autobot as soon as they halted, and didn't give her the chance.

Instead, she peeked up over the bottom frame of the rear window and watched the two Suishies; the mech was pacing, snarling into a little square chunk of plastic held up to his face, and the femme was waving her hands and complaining at him. Neither looked happy. What were they shouting about?

"What do you mean, we can't make the delivery? We're almost there, Cutler, we can't just-… what do you mean? What _sort_ of problem?"

"What's the hold-up? Let me talk to them-"

"Aw, shut up, Lucille. Cutler, I don't care if-… oh come off it, you're talking rubbish, now. What do _they_ want with _your_ worthless little research institute? Look, if you're gonna lie to me, at least make it believable-…"

Footloose shrank down in her little nest of blanket. She was starting to feel scared. They were still going the wrong way. They should be going south, and east, not north! And they looked angry. Why were they angry? Were they angry with her? She didn't think she'd been bad, but maybe she was wrong. They must be lying to her, she concluded. Day had _said _Suishies were tricky, not to be trusted. But they'd seemed nice! Hrf. She should have believed him.

A thought struck her. Maybe that was why the Autobot was silent! It was scared of them also. Or they'd done something to it, broke it, hurt it. Maybe they were going to break her too! Turn her into… into _mints_.

_Get out of here_, her sense of self-preservation said, at last. _Scary Suishies, get out. Find where you are later._

She shed the blanket, carefully, keeping her small, carefully-dimmed optics glued on her kidnappers – they'd not noticed her watching them, yet – and examined the ground outside. She didn't know exactly where she was, but at the very least she could calculate a good enough triangulation to get out of this funny silent Autobot.

_I come back for you_, she promised it, clicking quietly, then got up into a crouch and engaged her gate-

…They heard the low _slap_ of deforming air, and turned to find her already getting to her feet, safely outside.

"Oh, hey, HEY!" the mech yelled, alarmed, dropping his bit of plastic. "Hey, come back here!"

"I'll get it-" The femme was already moving towards her, with a strange stride that suggested she wasn't sure if she should approach carefully and try not to spook the little one, or just outright _run_ for her.

Footloose made her decision. These Suishies wanted to hurt her, and she had to put as much distance between them as possible. Luckily, she was well named – she might still be a groundling (to her unending frustration), but she could put on a pretty good turn of speed if she had to…

Without bothering to try and cross-reference her location, she bolted.

0o0o0o0o0

"Hey, _hey_, Mirage, did you see that?"

"See what?" Mirage replied, distractedly, watching Megatron and his assembled Decepticons through his pair of high-field binoculars. "Hm, odd. No Seekers there. I wonder what's up with _them_? Maybe Megatron's finally scrapped all three. Is that what you meant?"

Bumblebee sighed, patiently. "Nothing to do with Megatron, Raj. It was much closer to us. Over there. Looked like a very small Cybertronian."

"Over where?" Mirage turned with his binoculars at first still over his optics, before lowering them and squinting into the dark, following the line of Bumblebee's pointing finger. "I can't see anything."

"Over-…" The yellow minibot turned to look closer, but the little shape in his peripheral vision had vanished. "Oh. Uh… never mind, I guess." His shoulders sagged. "It's gone."

"Probably just one of those Rack Oons," Mirage reassured, returning to his surveillance. "Hound tells me they're indigenous to these parts."

"I don't _think_ it was a raccoon," Bumblebee demurred, quietly, but didn't force the point. He didn't have a better explanation for it, anyway. _Probably just another small human_, he consoled himself, and settled back to watching the Decepticons.

0o0o0o0o0

Ramjet was in a bad mood. Not only had all four of the fliers sent out to fetch back the "cargo" got a proper verbal slagging from Megatron when they got back empty-handed, now his trine was temporarily depopulated by one as well. Being alone on patrol with _Dirge_ was not Ramjet's idea of fun. (It wasn't Dirge's either, but that was no shocker, the blue blob of smelter-waste was _never_ damn happy.)

One of these days, Thrust would learn to keep his big flappy mouth shut. The stupid loudmouth coward had groused _it'd have __helped__ if they knew what they were slagging well __looking for _just a little too loudly, while Megatron was still in earshot. Thrust had been forced to stay behind for this patrol, as he was still in the repair bay having his leg reattached – after getting his nose mashed into a console monitor while the tyrant finally played the rudimentary snip of film Laserbeak had snagged of the tiny machines. _Is THAT good enough for you? _they'd heard the tyrant yelling, but hadn't hung around to watch the aftermath.

_The idiot was worse than Skywarp, at times, _Ramjet cursed – _at least the teleport had enough gumption to know when to keep his thoughts to himself_.

To top it all, Megatron had given them the stupidest, most menial task to do while he and those reckless Stunticons raided the science park. It was _totally _unfair! They should be there, in the thick of it, showing those Squishy flightless humans who was the superior species, but ohh no, Megatron couldn't forget one teensy infraction long enough to make a logical assignment of his warriors. It'd be good if he got himself slagged by the Autodorks again; Ramjet could just claim he'd been too far away to help out, because he was just being a good little fighter jet and following orders. (He'd have to be careful, though. The lack of Starscream-shaped bullet sponge meant he himself might get shot at.)

He was coming up for another efficient sweep of the suburbs when a small dark shape caught his optic, completely by coincidence. A small dark shape that was human _shaped_ but definitely not _human_, scrambling its way over a crash barrier and scampering across a busy highway, forcing human drivers to swerve out of its way, horns blaring.

There was only one answer. He had no idea how in the Pit it had got all this way, but it had to be the missing sparkling.

"Hey, Dirge, feel like getting back into Megatron's good books?" he suggested, wheeling about for another pass. "I see something really useful down there, right now."

"_Autobots_!" Dirge wailed, excitedly.

_What?!_ Aw, _damn_! Autobots, here already?! Trust those goodie-goodie freaks to get in the way! "Not them, _not them_!" Ramjet howled, annoyedly, but Dirge had already gone on the offensive. "_The little one, you slagging idiot_! Primus alive, do you think you could actually _listen to me_ one day?! Get _the little one!_"

"I'm _getting _the little one," Dirge yelled back, already hailing laser fire down around the yellow Autobot in his sights.

"Not _that_ little one…!" Ramjet despaired, but the return fire had started in earnest and he had to take some hasty evasive measures, and when he finally got the chance to try and return to the sparkling… it had vanished back into the rest of the junk.

0o0o0o0o0

The sun was low in the sky and the shadows were beginning to lengthen when the space bridge unexpectedly came to life and disgorged a large, disoriented green female.

Forceps hadn't wanted to come in the first place, but circumstance had put her into a corner. Hardline had been about to make a dash for the bridge when Shockwave himself emerged from hiding and engaged the tank in a firefight. The Quayside twins had already got embroiled in argument with the guardian robots, and no-one else was close enough. Which left just her, with a clear opening to the space bridge, a futile wish to have never let Hardline drag her along, and the beginnings of a very sour mood.

The silver guard on the alien side of the bridge gave her a look, unhooking his feet off the console and standing. She backed off a step and settled into a defensive position. "I don't want any trouble, Decepticon," she started, gruffly.

"No worries, femme, I'm not gonna give you any. I was gonna say, I hope you're not here for the sparklings, because things have gone Pitwise, as usual," he drawled, unimpressed.

"Elaborate," she instructed, brusquely. This must be Vantage; Hardline had vaguely hinted he may be in on the plan, but hadn't given her much in the way of details, including what he actually looked like. The fact he knew about the sparklings gave her a glimmer of confidence that he was trustworthy.

"Megatron caught wind of it all," he explained, grimly. "I'm not sure he knew _what_ he'd heard, to start with, but he's certainly took steps to stomp Skywarp and co down; I know he's grounded Screamer and TC, and I figure Warp's not in a good place either. All three of 'em have been off the air for more than a terran orn."

"Damn," she cursed, quietly. "The little ones?"

"I don't know." Vantage spread his hands, helplessly. "Megatron doesn't have them, that's for sure, but that's all that _is_ sure. I think the little mech is still with Thundercracker, down in the desert somewhere – he managed to get word to me before we lost contact – but I've not got any word off Screamer. I'm not even entirely sure where he came down. The other little spark could be… anywhere."

"Is anyone looking for them?"

"Iii… don't know. I guess the Coneheads probably are, but I've not heard any favourable reports from them. As in, they're _looking_, but not _finding_, if that makes sense? Which is probably a good thing, in the long run, but, ehh, you know."

"Have you tried to contact anyone else for help?" She gave him a careful look. "The Autobots, perhaps?"

"Listen. Femme. I don't know how things work your side of the bridge, but this side? If Megatron catches me chatting to Autobutts?" Vantage drew a line across his chest with one finger, and made a _schhk_ noise. "No more space bridge duty, because no more Vanner. And I'd kinda like to still be functioning, after all this!"

"All right, all right," she raised her hands in a surrendering gesture, and waved him irritably into silence. "I get the idea. I just didn't want to duplicate work you might already have done-"

The angry voice that blared like an alarm call through the control panel and made both machines jump didn't need any introduction. "So help me Vantage, if you're recharging when you should be guarding again-!"

Vantage gave the console a look, and winced. "Aw, _damn_. He'll _completely_ slag me if he thinks I've let you through here unchallenged-"

"So we'll make it look like we've been engaged in combat." She cracked her knuckles, meaningfully.

"…uhhh, thanks, but maybe I'll just do it audibly," Vantage argued, warily, eyeing the broad shoulders and guessing they probably contained pretty big power converters. He waited until Megatron had snarled through the communications speaker a third time before thumbing the receive button, and firing a couple of random shots into the air. "Yes, Mighty Megatron?" he greeted, doing a good job at faking a stressed tone of voice.

"What in Primus' name is going on, there?" the warlord snapped, although the _going-to-kill-you-if-you-don't-answer-NOW_ tone had gone from his voice.

"Intruder through the space bridge!" Vantage reported, firing another random shot. "I've disarmed 'em but I think they're gonna make a run for it-… I need backup, here!"

Megatron grumbled something unintelligible, apparently disappointed that he had no obvious excuse to finally get rid of Vantage. "In that case, I need not pass on Shockwave's message," he growled. "It seems you are already dealing with it."

"That's as- ow! That's as maybe, but I need-" Gunshot. "Need backup!"

There was another grumble. "All right. I'll send someone," the tyrant sighed, tiredly. "Try not to let the intruder get too far away before they get there."

"You best make a sharp exit," Vantage instructed, curtly, the instant the line closed. "I'll bet Megatron sends the Coneheads. You won't get much quarter from them."

"Keep me posted," she instructed, jamming a communications wafer into his hand. "Anything new, any updates on either the _little_ ones or the _big_ ones, and you let me know."

"You're not my leader, femme, I don't have to do what you tell me to," Vantage groused, but pocketed the wafer anyway, and gave her a funny look. "Buut… if I can keep Megatron from eavesdropping, I figure I could drop you a line and update you every so often. Good enough?"

She gave him a laconic smile, and touched a hand to her chest in a fake salute. "Your assistance is most appreciated, of course."

"Yeah yeah. You best get a move on, femme, they'll be here any moment."

"And _you _best take a nap, before anyone thinks you're playing games," she confirmed, cryptically.

Vantage had time to glance very briefly up at her and say the first syllable or two of "and what's _that_ supposed to mean?" before one hand pressed gently down against his shoulder, and there was the _bite_ of a hypodermic into a fuel line and a sharp pain, and the world greyed into stasis.

0o0o0o0o0

Even seeing Megatron get ungrateful his aft whomped by the Autobots hadn't improved Ramjet's mood. In fact, in its most basic terms, he was fragged right the slagging slaggity slag off. His one chance, his _one freaking chance_ to get back into Megatron's good books, and _what_ does he do? He only goes and pulls a Starscream and frags it up completely beyond rescue. At least he could blame it on his idiot wingmate, because if Dirge had bothered to _listen_ before he went after the Autobots, they might have snagged the little one at last. And just to top it all off nicely, the blue blob was in that fragging creepy mood of his again, grousing about extinction and death and… _argh_. Ramjet was halfway inclined to just wallop him out of the air, just to get him to shut up, because yelling at him sure as Pit wasn't working-

"Ramjet?" Megatron's curt voice distracted him out of his churlish temper. "What is your current proximity to the space bridge?"

"Um, not far away. I guess we could get there in a few breems," Ramjet confirmed. "Was there something you wanted us to do?"

"You have your chance to redeem yourself, at least partially," the tyrant explained, dryly. "Shockwave reports an intruder through the bridge. Liaise with Vantage, and deal with it."

When the two jets touched down, warily, it appeared that the space bridge was unattended. The place was silent, and there were dull, blackened scorchmarks on the control panel, though, and across the cliffs, and it did actually look like the little layabout had been forced to defend himself for a change.

"…urrgh-"

They turned to find Vantage had emerged woozily from behind his controls, one hand pressed to his brow and the other propping him up against the terminal.

"What happened to _you_?" Ramjet demanded, not bothering to try and help him up.

"…attacker… through the… khnn… through the space bridge," Vantage managed to get the words out, feigning terrible hurt. "Nearly had her… nearly had her! Lucky shot-…"

"You were felled by a _femme_? Dear Primus, we're really delving at the bottom of the scrap heap for guards for this thing, aren't we?" Ramjet scoffed. "All right. Dirge? Figure we better go deal with it."

"Need my help…?" Vantage wondered, clinging to the control panel.

"_Your_ help? _You're_ the one who let her _escape_," the white jet sneered. "Nah. You just sit on your incompetent aft and let the professionals take care of it."

0o0o0o0o0

In the orns since his incarceration, Skywarp hadn't even so much as moved out of his corner. There didn't seem to be much point to moving, to start with – wasn't as if he was going to be able to _go_ anywhere. And not moving meant he could conserve what little energon remained in his systems – he'd been due to refuel when Megatron had hauled him away for interrogation, and no-one had sent him any energon since he'd woken up.

At least, he consoled himself, there'd been no gloating that he'd failed and Megatron had the sparklings and whatever, which Skywarp took to mean they hadn't caught them. Primus forbid it meant things had gone aft-up and the triple changers had accidentally killed them. He swallowed down the unfamiliar anxiety.

That was the other thing he found worst about solitary confinement, almost as bad as the way the walls closed in on him. He couldn't distract himself. Thoughts were just… _there_. Like a dirtied injury that compelled a mech to worry at it, to pick at it. There was nothing to distract his attention away from the bleak thoughts that circled like scavengers around him.

_One of these days_, he promised himself, resting his cheek better on his knees and slipping into an uneasy doze, _I'll ditch the teleport, and get myself some proper brains. I hate being stupid. And I hate it when it's __my__ stupidity that gets the other guys all smashed to bits. Stupid Skywarp, who always ends up sending things to the smelter._

There was an enthusiastic banging on his cell door that alarmed him out of his doze, but it didn't take much brain power to work out that it was just someone banging, not an attack. _Besides, wouldn't be any big deal if we _were_ under attack_, he thought to himself, sulkily. _Not like I can do anything about it in here. It'd serve Megaprat right, anyway, putting all three of his best warriors out of the frame._

"Warp? Skywarp? Yo, Warp, wake up!"

That sounded like Rumble; a quick glance into the periphery of his vision confirmed it. The cassette was peering down through the small window high in the cell door. Skywarp ignored him.

"I _told_ you not to bother," Frenzy's slightly more distant voice added, grumpily. "He ain't gonna talk to us while he's too busy sulking-"

_Ha! __Sulking__! Because that's __totally__ all it is._ Skywarp almost turned his audio sensors right off so he didn't have to listen any more, at that point.

"-and we've got way better things to do than hang around down here." Frenzy finished.

"Look, he doesn't know we've got it, does he?" Rumble directed his scolding down at his unseen brother. "Just gimme a minute, willya?"

"He's not gonna _thank _you, and if Megs finds us down here _we're _gonna be for the high jump! Just… lets dump his wing by the door, and come on. When he's done being a grouch, we can try again-"

_Wing?_ "W-wait…!" Skywarp jerked his head up off his knees, urgently, and stretched out one hand in a plea for them not to go.

Both small cassette faces crowded back into the little window in the door. Skywarp wondered briefly what they were standing on, then decided it was best not to know.

"So you are awake, then," Frenzy challenged.

Rumble planted a hand down on his brother's faceplate and shoved him out of the way, and there was a clatter as the red cassette ended up sprawled out on the deck. "Shut up, Frenz. Listen, Warp?" A surprisingly earnest crimson gaze met Skywarp's exhausted maroon one. "We found your wing, in an old store room close to the repair bay." He pointed down at the tiny triangular wingtip that had appeared at the margin of the window; Frenzy must be holding it up. "It's a bit dinged up, sure, but it looks like it's still okay to keep you in the air."

"I hate to break it to you, but it has to be _attached _to me, to work," Skywarp corrected, grimly, setting his chin back onto his knees, sulkily. "And it won't get me very far while I'm still in this little box, either."

"Some people are just never pleased, are they? If you'd give us a second to finish telling you, we'd have said how we've got a fix for that, too," Frenzy explained, reappearing in the window in place of the wing. "We bribed Hook to reattach it, if you want – just a quick repair so we can get you out of here."

"…get me out?" A tiny kindling of hope flickered up inside the disconsolate Seeker.

"Yeah, we were gonna spring you from the joint while Megatron is still out getting his aft handed to him by the Autobutts. Soundwave's with him, says he'll ping us when they're on the way back."

"Why would you want to do that?" Skywarp wondered, suspiciously. Those little cassette twerps must be up to something. There was no way they should be this helpful.

"Well, with you three out of the way, we're next in line as prime cannon-fodder." Rumble grinned, lopsidedly. "Besides, Soundwave says he wants to repay the error that got you three all messed up like this."

"What?" Skywarp straightened up fully. "What do you mean?"

"Come on, how do you think Megs found out about your pair of little ones? The Boss may be big and good at tactics, but he's purge-poor at spying. Got us to do it for him."

Skywarp covered his face with both hands. "Primus," he groaned. "So how many of you _know_, now, exactly?"

"Ah, not that many. Us and Soundwave, Megatron, you three obviously…" Frenzy ticked them off on his fingers.

"Don't forget the Coneheads, they were supposed to be retrieving 'em, right?" Rumble added.

"Oh, and the triple changers," Frenzy agreed, pointing at Rumble in agreement. "And I figure Hook's got it sussed as well-"

"Only 'cause you let it slip, cogs-for-brains!"

Skywarp vented exhaust in a sigh. "So… half the base, then?"

"Well… kinda, I guess, yeah." Rumble smiled, apologetically. "Sorry, Warpster. We did try to keep it hidden, but you know the Boss."

Skywarp watched glumly as they opened the cell door, and debated making a run for it, just in case they were winding him up – it was only the knowledge that he wouldn't _get_ anywhere that stopped him. "…what about Screamer, and TC?" He didn't want to ask, but he had to know.

"Er, well…" Rumble dithered, pausing in the doorway to watch the corridor.

"We lost contact with both of 'em just after they were shot down," Frenzy replied, bluntly, and shrugged, apologetically. "Screamer's in a forest in the United States somewhere. We figure he's, ah… alive but unconscious… from what Astrotrain says."

"…and TC?"

"Well, he was still pretty functional, from what we heard from Blitzwing," Rumble answered. "Got down in one piece in some desert somewhere."

"We've not been able to raise him since the guys got back and gave us their report, though, so we figure the heat's mucking up his communications relays," Frenzy argued. "Not that they hung about to check he was okay, either. They made a run for it after he fired back and almost took Thrust out."

"Serve him right," Skywarp grumbled, softly. "Stupid traitors."

"Megatron gave Thrust a hard time for wimping out, too," Rumble added, with an unwholesome grin. "Kicked his aft good and proper for backchatting him."

"Which I now have the endless joy of repairing," a voice sniped, from the corridor, and Rumble jumped. "Out of my way, cassette. Skywarp? Here." Hook stopped in the middle of the room and stabbed a finger at the floor in front of himself, irritably. "I can't do anything while you're squashed up in the corner like that."

Skywarp scooted himself over the floor to the required spot, not bothering to actually get up. "So I should just work on the principle they're all dead," he mumbled, grimly, and let his chin drift back down onto his knees while Hook fetched out a laser scalpel to tidy up the ragged edge where his right wing had been removed. "Fan-freaking-tastic." It was a funny sensation, the idea of suddenly being alone after all these millennia sharing everything with his trine.

As the breems wore on into a whole cycle, and more, it became obvious that Hook didn't seem to have grasped the concept of a 'quick repair'; he was being as fastidious and pernickety as ever. Anyone else would have done a very rough job of it, slap on a strip of emergency plate and weld down either side, and cross their fingers that it stayed on more than an orn, but not Hook. The Constructicon was carefully dabbing spots of weld all the way down the inner front margin, connecting up sensor mesh and motor relays, fine cabling, replacing lengths of fuel line and coolant mesh…

Skywarp curled his fingers into tight fists and concentrated on diverting signals anywhere _but_ his right wing. It was nice – um, okay, maybe not the right term. Maybe _charitable_ was better – of Hook to do the work without demanding payment, but he was also doing it without anaesthesia, and every new relay that reconnected was an additional bit of hurt.

"Come on, Hook," Rumble chivvied, from the doorway. "Soundwave says they're only a few breems away from base!"

"If you're not _silent_, you little ingrate, I will make _you_ do this," the crane threatened, not looking up. "You have given me a handful of breems to do work that should take a full orn to complete properly, and I have no desire to help you go _fishing_ when it falls off and Skywarp ends up in the ocean."

"Well if you don't get it done soon he won't get the _chance_ to go swimming-"

Hook glared, and bounced a wrench off the back of Rumble's head. "If you would permit me the honour of finishing my sentence," he snarked, irritably, "I was about to say, I think this is as good as I will manage in the time permitted. Skywarp? I wouldn't suggest you try transforming," he instructed, dryly, directing his attention back down on his patient. "My repairs on your wing are good, but not up to their usual standard. Perhaps if I'd had more time, I could have done a better job of it. You don't want to have it drop off the instant you shapeshift."

Skywarp craned his neck back and examined the repair, critically, and pursed his lips unhappily. The break was still visible as a stark silver gouge all the way through his dark enamel, and the patches of solder were like lumps of dull scar-tissue dotted haphazardly along the entire length of it. "Uhh, thanks," he gave Hook a wary glance.

"Come on!" Rumble dragged Skywarp to his feet, Frenzy pushing him from behind. "You're gonna really be flying close to the wire if you leave it any longer, they're due back any time now."

The instant the last clatter of feet on deck had vanished, Hook opened a comms channel.

"Well?" Megatron growled.

"He's gone," Hook confirmed. "The beacon is in place. You may track him at your leisure."

"I hope Soundwave's two little idiots didn't let anything slip."

"I elected not to tell them. After a little gentle suggestion, they seem to think _they_ actually came up with the plan to rescue him." Hook wrinkled his nose, unimpressed.

Megatron sighed, melodramatically. "Tell me something, Hook," he said, wearily. "Are we the only ones on this entire base that wish their fellow Decepticons were not quite so _naïve_…?"

0o0o0o0o0

Mitchell called a halt to the convoy early next morning, and they parked up in the shade just as the temperature began to climb. They were only an hour or two's drive away from the Egyptian border, but his men had been on the road all night and were already tired, and he didn't want anyone crashing from heat exhaustion. Particularly not when they were so close to making their delivery.

While they set up the tents, he went over to the low-loader, to check on their cargo. Hostile crimson eyes glared down on him like coals, when he threw the edge of the tarpaulin back, burning so hot that he could very nearly _feel _the murderous desire for destruction crackling in the air between them. It was a good job the blue giant was pinioned, because the slightest fraction of an inch of manoeuvring room and it'd probably be doling out its own punishment for the way it had been treated.

"Good morning! Sleep well?" he greeted, cheerfully, and the robot's glowing eyes narrowed even further.

"Where are you taking us?" it asked, at last, and there was a tired sort of resignation in its words.

"That, my friend, is something for _me_ to know, and _you_ to find out."

"You are not my _friend_, human."

"Ha! Well, yes, there _is_ that. But the sentiment remains unchanged. You don't need to know." Mitchell gave it a shrug. "You'll find out soon enough. We should be there by tomorrow morning."

"Then at least satisfy my curiosity, human, and tell me you have the little one."

Was that _concern_, in the gruff words? Curiouser and curiouser. Mitchell inclined his head. "That I cannot confirm or deny," he lied.

The big face relaxed a little, anyway. "Good. I was anxious you had left him behind."

"You're not attempting to bluff me into giving you an answer, are you, robot?"

"That sounds like a pretty conclusive confirmation, if you ask me."

"Maybe I just daren't tell you we left it dead and buried in the rubble back in Cedada," Mitchell challenged, folding his arms.

"You would do that to a sparkling…" The machine hesitated, apparently looking for the appropriate term. "-a child? An innocent? Someone outside the war?"

"Frankly? Sure. It's just another robot, ain't it? For sale to the highest bidder." Mitchell sighed, and planted his hands on his hips, briefly. "Look, in case you'd not got the hint, I've got no interest in you, your kid, your faction, your war, or the stupid way you squabble over fuel that you could share _easy _among yourselves and still have some left over." He ticked the items off on his fingers, irritably. "To me, you're just another job, and all I care about is getting _paid_ for my services at the end of it."

The robot actually _smiled_, at that. "You may not care, but you're an admirable Decepticon on the inside, human," he commented, dryly. "We're not so unalike as you'd like to think."

"Oh… go back to sleep," Mitchell grumbled, and dropped the tarpaulin back down over it with a hard snap of his wrist. "You can sit and cook your processors, for all I care."

The robot's soft, rumbling laughter followed him all the way back to his tent, and he felt like EMP-ing it again, purely out of pique.

The Collector's operative – who they _still_ didn't know the name of – was sitting on a folding chair just outside the tent, in the shade of his truck, which was in turn in the shade of the high-sided trailer of one of the lorries. "You _will _be well paid for your services, Darren Mitchell," he replied to the unspoken question, earnestly.

Mitchell glared at him, matching stares, but the man's weird green eyes never so much as flickered and ultimately he broke the staring match himself, unnerved. "I better be. You tell your boss, the big bastard is starting to get on my nerves. It's frickin' _laughing_ at me!"

"You won't have to put up with it for much longer," the man assured, watching as Mitchell fetched a fresh bottle of water from the tent's little portable chiller. "If all goes to plan, we will remove him from your presence very shortly. We will cross the Nile in Minya, and halt when we reach el-Hagg Qandil. Your men will remain in the village; you and one aide only will accompany me into the hills. If the Collector is satisfied, you will be paid, and the cargo removed."

"You think he's gonna be happy with _this _argumentative, hostile bag of bolts?" Mitchell demanded, gesturing with his bottle.

"I think you've done well," the man agreed, and actually looked pretty genuine about it. "I hadn't anticipated you'd catch this one. He has the appropriate connections to the target, we may well be able to bait him in a lot faster. The small one will be a huge bonus."

"Huh." Mitchell swigged on his water, unimpressed, and more than a little irritable at the idea they'd steal the little one as well. _Better frigging well __pay us__ for it. _"Well, you better give us some more of those weird power cells for that snazzy gun you loaned us. One more shot, and it'll be right out, and then we'll never catch the other dude you're after."

"We have the appropriate energon relays at our base of operations. Fear not, Darren Mitchell, you will not be asked to operate without the appropriate supplies."

Mitchell winced, openly. "Look, do you think you could lay off with using my full name, all the time?" he complained, halfheartedly. "It's making you stick out as different, and you're already making folk suspicious. I don't want them figuring it out before we get to Minya."

"But it _is_ your name, correct?" the man inclined his head, very slightly.

"Well, yeah, but… look, we don't use our full names in normal conversation. We just use one, or the other. Just… call me Mitchell, all right?" He watched the man nod, and narrowed his eyes, a little. "Speaking of which, am I ever gonna get some kinda name for you? 'That Guy working for the Collector' is getting unwieldy."

The man's gaze finally lost its bland curiosity, and he shot a wary look at the tarp-covered robot on the low-loader. "I don't think it's wise to tell you while he is in earshot."

"Why? You got history together, or something?"

"You could say that." The man fidgeted, briefly, then leaned forwards, very close to Mitchell's ear, and said, very softly; "please remember it is very unwise to use my name in front of the cargo, but... you may call me Deuce."


	8. Chapter 7

**Warped - Chapter Seven**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously Ocs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** Haflurble, this new layout is a bit odd, ne?

Just to clarify, both twins do have the capacity to teleport; Slipstream tends to only use his if he has to, but Footloose uses hers whenever and wherever. Additionally, I always worked on the principle that a computer-brained organism would prefer to be at least _cool _if not outright _cold_, as (if I recall my physics correctly, which I probably don't) heat slows down the flow of electricity, and would probably make them sluggish. Hence why I figured deserts aren't nice places to get lost in for robots either. :)

Still having trouble keeping folk in character. :urble: Hope it's not too _gleh._

And lastly, if this one throws up questions? I hope all shall be explained next chapter. ;)

* * *

There had been a collective flicker of dismay when Skywarp almost walked square into the clueless Coneheads, returning from their one successful mission of the day, but thankfully they'd been too interested in gloating over the chips of green armour they'd scrounged as trophies to notice the dimmed-out optics of the anxious Seeker who'd taken shelter behind a bulkhead, so determined to be utterly silent he'd even turned off his air-conditioners.

Skywarp had made his successful escape from _Nemesis _barely half a breem before Megatron returned, his moonlit contrails still hanging in the air as the returning party landed gracefully on the docking tower. The tyrant now stood over a monitor in the command centre, arms folded, watching as the purple _blip_ on the screen departed for the United States, apparently pushing its engines as fast as they'd go. Not that speed made any difference to its trackability; the blip remained resolutely at the centre of the screen, co-ordinates and contours scrolling rapidly beneath it.

"Do you want us to go fetch him back?" Ramjet wondered, watching the screen (and secretly anxiously wondering if he similarly wore a transponder somewhere).

"Not yet. Watch where he goes, but for now that is _all_ you do," the silver warlord instructed, quietly. "Following him will be a waste of fuel and time, while _he_ still doesn't know what he's doing. You could spend hours just doing big circles. Besides…" He glared down at the white jet. "Your track record in bringing back miscreants is somewhat… unimpressive."

Ramjet had the good sense to back up a step or two. "Um, yeah. Sorry about that, Boss. We just-"

"Ramjet?"

"…Boss?"

"Be silent. I don't want to hear your excuses again. If you remind me of your idiocy too many times, you may end up filling that nice empty cell we have in the brig."

Ramjet hastily swallowed his protests. "Yes Boss."

"The whole point in allowing him to 'escape' was so we can follow him," Megatron explained, irritably. "I want to see what he elects to do. For this reason, no-one follows him, no-one contacts him, no-one challenges his actions." He stared hard at each of his followers in turn, optics glittering dangerously, and all – even Thrust – wisely nodded their confirmation. "With any luck, he will lead us right to them."

0o0o0o0o0

Skywarp pushed his engines to their very limit until he reached dry land. Being shot down over water had sounded like the least-good option that had been presented to him in a very long time, even worse than solitary confinement.

His processors were in turmoil. It was hard enough thinking cleverly about things when he was _calm_, and right now he could barely keep thinking in a straight line.

TC? Crashed in the desert, unreachable, overheating, burning out all his cortical relays, dying. Screamer? Dying in a pit of mud somewhere, temperature regulator flooded, probably shorting out every damn component in his chassis. The little ones? Primus, if the _big_ ones didn't stand a chance, what was happening to _them_? And Pulse? Not even started looking for _her_, yet, she could already be in a million tiny bits scattered across the whole of Cybertron. And there was only one person he could think of that fitted the description of "big green femme", after he'd heard Ramjet and Dirge gloating about their one successful run, while he'd been flattened against the bulkhead, praying to an absent Primus that they didn't catch him oh _please _don't let them catch him…

To think this had been some sort of master plan for _removing_ the sparklings from harm's way! The simplest of tasks, don't blab to Megs, and he couldn't even manage to keep his sodding vocaliser offline. All he'd done was get _everyone_ kicked off the cliff, and it had been so beautifully done he might as well have put the boot in himself. He almost laughed at the painful absurdity of it, but managed to keep his vocaliser under control, knowing the laughter would probably dissolve into incoherent, painful static at any moment.

_All dead. All dead. All dead, and all because of you_. _You stupid fu-_

_Stay optimistic_, he told himself, stamping on the hyper-critical little voice determined to get him to fling himself under something heavy and go join his trine-mates in the Matrix. The idea of being alone – oh, sweet Primus, _alone;_ the word tolled like some distant funerary bell in the back of his mind – was almost incomprehensible. No Screamer to frag off until he was at the point of _actually_ screaming. No TC to confide in, to admit his stupid concerns to. No support, no backup, no strength and solidarity. No-one. _No-one_.

_You'd know if they were dead_, he told himself, firmly_. You've been part of your little hive-mind of three for so long, you'd know if they were dead_. He knew he was just lying to himself, but it was a _comforting_ lie, so he clung to it. _They're still out there, waiting for you to go rescue them. Because you _can_ do that. At least, if there was no-one else out there, you could, if you didn't have to watch out no-one was out for your tailfins to take as trophies. I bet Megatron's already sent the hunting parties out with my name on the bounty. _

_Guess I could go to Cybertron_, he thought, miserably. _Plead my case to the Policedorks, and see if they'll come help me look for the guys. But what would I tell Hardline? Pretend I don't know those Coneheaded idiots smashed Sepp to bits? He'll squash _me_ if he finds out._

It was already dark when the twinkle of human habitation finally appeared below him. Skywarp throttled back on his engines; it felt a smidgen safer to do so, now he was over land, and a radar ping confirmed there was no-one following him. It might not be very fuel-efficient, crawling along at this reduced airspeed, but it meant his energon might last that little bit longer, and long enough for him to source an alternative fuel supply. The remains of a cube that Rumble had scrounged out for him had given him just enough of a flush of strength to get away, but now he was right back down to vapours.

He could pull off the national grid, of course, which was by far the easiest option, but his batteries would only hold the charge for so long, and he'd have to sit there doing nothing for altogether too long. Plus, if any Squishies found him… well, he'd just have to run for it, before they returned with aggression and weapons.

Alternatively, he could steal fuel, preferably of the aviation variety. (His need to stay alive and on the move was greater than the Squishies' need to drive big vehicles, after all. Wasn't as if they'd miss a few gallons every now and then.) It wouldn't be a patch on proper energon, and it'd probably leave residues caked over all his pumps, but his converters would make short work of it and make it utilisable. He could survive on it well enough for a few Terran months, until he worked out what in Primus' fragging name he was going to actually _do_…

Down below was a remote automobile refuelling station, a little pool of warm light next to a clustering of houses. Perfect timing. He dipped his wings and glided down.

He landed as _noisily_ as physically possible and made sure all the humans were aware of his presence, kicked the roof off a building for good measure, and chased them all away without even having to let it slip he was completely weaponless. Once the last wailing little squishy had fled down the dark street, he parked himself under the canopy, and helped himself to the nozzle on the closest fuel pump.

"Primus, I can't believe I'm actually doing this-…" he whined to himself, examining the grimy bit of metal, knowing what he had to do but really, _really_ not wanting to do it.

He steeled his nerve, and set the nozzle between his lips-

Harsh, foul smelling automobile fuel hit his pumps like a kick from Megatron himself; everything made a horrible grinding noise, and he forced himself to permit it through the valves that insisted it was far too low-grade to be useful. It was hideous stuff, but he was desperately low, and with no energon in sight this would have to do.

He managed to get three quarters of a tank before he _really_ couldn't take any more, and doubled up next to the fuel pumps making retching noises, trying to convince his analytical plates not to purge what they insisted was toxic. _Primus, this is even worse than Blue. At least Blue was clean! _It was like he imagined it would feel to stick his nose into Motormaster's engine sump and drink the oil from there, which only made him feel worse.

The humans had begun to re-emerge from hiding, when he finally got shakily back to his feet to leave, and they were all armed, by now. The gunshots from the smaller handheld weapons _spanged_ noisily but harmlessly off him, but he knew that it wouldn't just be handguns if he hung around much longer - the human army could probably be relied on to come to the rescue, if the Autobots themselves didn't catch wind of his thievery and come to chase him off. He could already hear police sirens in the distance.

Not wanting to take any chances, he engaged his thrusters, and 'staggered' skywards. He felt heavy and sluggish, lumbering into the air like a low-level cargo carrier, not the sleekest and most efficient of all Decepticon air-warriors. It felt like the fuel itself was punishing him for his thievery, burning thick and tarry through his secondary engine core, but sometimes a mech just had to just take what he could get, right? What was it the squishies said, beggars can't be choosers?

_First stop, find Screamer_, he decided, heading north. _He'll know what to do. If he's still alive. _

0o0o0o0o0

Footloose's first conscious thought upon waking was _where Seem? _

The appropriate memory sectors were all booting, though, and she recalled Seem was with Dacker, wherever _he_ was. Both lost – like everyone else. Ama, Seem, Dacker, Sta'zim, herself... She sat up, glumly, and twisted the foily thermal regulator blanket between her hands for a minute or two. It wasn't often she woke up on her own – if she wasn't in the presence of her (steadily growing) family, at least Seem was there, grumbling about _not done recharge, sit still_. At least there was _someone _with her – Atchet had his chin resting on his arms, which rested folded across the top of a pile of data-readers, and Jas was sitting cross-legged on the next bunk along. At first, she thought he was awake, and was about to say her hellos, but then she noticed his optics were offline, and a charging cable ran down from his shoulders.

She peered at her new 'family' for several long moments, and mouthed her fingers, warily. Jas seemed friendly, but he might not like her jumping on him, and she might knock him over and break him while he was offline. Besides, it wouldn't be the same without Seem to cajole into joining in. So… g_ood morning-_s would have to wait.

Accompanied only by the soft _slap_ of deforming air, she orped herself to the floor and set off to investigate the big vessel. It was a funny orangey colour – not like the tense purple Nem'sis, and not much like the dull grey of Cy'tron, either. She quite liked it – it felt sunny, and friendly. Maybe the mechs here would be nice, too? It wasn't nice going places were people were tricksy and nasty. The corridors were quiet, and empty – Jas had said to not tell about Day Skawar, so there must be more people around to not-tell, but as they weren't about, she figured everyone else that lived here must be busy. Out at work, like where Spot or Ausep or Hack went in the daytime.

"Ooh." Walking into a larger, emptier room, she was confronted by a big, _big_ screen along one wall. This must be Tel'tran-1, Jas had told her about it as he took her away from those nasty Suishies. Maybe it could help, there was a big brain inside it!

With more than a little bit of effort, she climbed carefully up onto Tel'tran's control console – no more orping in public until Jas said it was safe – and examined the big keys. She'd have to use her whole hand, to push some of these.

"Hello Tel'tran!" she greeted, sitting back onto her heels on the clear spot at the centre of the panel.

"Hello, Button," the supercomputer replied, evenly. "How can I assist?"

"Help fine Dacker?" she requested, leaning forwards. "Is lost!"

"I'm sorry, I don't understand your request. Please clarify?"

She pouted, thoughtfully. "Dacker lost," she repeated, more slowly. "Need help to find. Tel'tran help look?"

It understood her well enough that time. "Where would you like to look first?"

"Have fix!" she explained. What was that word? She'd only heard it once or twice, and not very clearly. "Have tri-… triangle-… lations?"

Tel'tran seemed to understand well enough. "Input the triangulation co-ordinates you would like me to show you on the panel which is flashing," it instructed. "Sky Spy will provide the appropriate visuals."

She dabbed her palms down on the big keys; she had to use her whole upper body weight to get them to press, but they made satisfying clicks when she did so. "Done."

"Please wait." Numbers scrolled briefly, and a little diagram of a sphere cut into segments rotated at the side, then it flattened out across the screen and a picture took its place. "These are the real-time images corresponding to the location of your choice."

Footloose studied the picture, curiously. It didn't look much like where she and Sta'zim had crashed – that place was all mud and wet, and green and brown in colour like old copper. This place was rocky and pale-coloured, dry and devoid of vegetation; it was obviously late afternoon, shadows stretching away across the sandy-coloured mountainside.

And there was nothing there. At least, there's was nothing she _wanted_ to see; there was a set of bluish scuffmarks across the battered rocks, and some small chips of debris, but no Dacker, and no Seem. That couldn't be right, these were the exact trianglelations that Sta'zim had told her! Find Dacker, he here. But not here! "Gone?" she wondered, disappointedly, out loud. "Gone where, Tel'tran? See bigger?"

Not being _sentient _did not make the computer an idiot. Although the little femme's instruction was somewhat cryptic, it made a logical estimation of what she must want – what she was looking for was obviously not in its visual field, so it zoomed out a little and made the overall area it was looking at bigger.

She cocked her head over to one side; the scuffmarks made a bluish line, she noticed. Maybe if they followed the line… "Can look down, Tel'tran?" she wondered, and watched as the screen scrolled slowly and more of the line appeared.

"Tunisia, huh?"

She looked up, startled, and found Jazz beside her; her fingers crept back into her mouth. "What I chew?"

"Tunisia," Jazz repeated, being more careful to enunciate the word properly, and hunkered down so he was on her level. "It's what that little bit of Earth is called. Is there something there that you're looking for? Can I help out?"

She shifted a little. "Have trianglelations," she explained, evasively. "Tel'tran show."

"Triangulations for what?"

There was an almost imperceptible flicker in her optics, and she seemed to shrink down on herself.

"Heyy, I can keep a secret," he reminded, with a reassuring smile, sensing what the matter was. "What were you looking for? Maybe we can find it together."

Footloose hesitated for a long time, and at first Jazz was sure she was going to refuse to tell. "Tel'tran look smaller?" she requested, at last, and using the same logic as before, the supercomputer zoomed in on the section of broken mountainside. She gestured an arm in a point, and peeked sidelong to watch for Jazz's reaction. "Sta'zim say Dacker here, must find. But is gone."

"Dacker… is Thundercracker?" Jazz asked – it made more sense, now. Knowing one of the trio usually meant you knew the other two simply by merit of the fact they rarely did things solo.

She gave him one of those long, wary looks. "Jas say not to tell," she reminded.

"I can keep a secret," he confirmed, tapping a conspiratorial finger to his lips in a _ssh_-gesture. "I won't tell anyone who you're looking for, if I was right?"

She nodded. "Tee See," she enunciated, carefully. "And Seem. Both lost. Suishies said to help find, but took away." She gave him another of those probing looks, and added, carefully, as if testing him; "_Jas_ say to help find…"

"But I took you away as well, huh?" He gave her a sympathetic little smile, then settled on the closest chair behind the terminal and wasn't entirely surprised when she invited herself to sit on his lap. "Well, I promise _I'll _let you go home, when we find your family. Good enough?"

"And not to make of candies," she instructed.

"What?"

She looked up into his perplexed face. "Suishie hoomings say to sell and make of mints," she explained, earnestly. "Is wrong, am not food!

Jazz smiled. "I don't think they were going to try and eat you, Button. It's just a saying. Humans have lots of sayings that don't make a lot of sense from a logical point of view."

"Stupid hoomings," she groused, folding her little arms.

"We-ell, I don't think I'd go so far as to say they're all _stupid_…"

They sat and studied Teletraan-1's visuals together for another few breems, until the _Ark_ began to get a fraction noisier, the resident mechs rousing themselves from recharge.

"We best get you back to the medical bay, before everyone else wakes up and crowds us," Jazz suggested, gently. "We'll only annoy Prowler, sitting here in his seat so he can't work."

"What prowler am?"

"Oh, you'll get to meet him – and everyone else – a bit later," Jazz promised, patting her antennae. "First of all, though…" He leaned down closer to her little audios, and wondered, in a conspiratorial whisper, "one last thing before we go. Whereabouts did you and Star crash?"

Footloose gave him a sidelong glance, and returned her fingers to her mouth, anxiously. "Secret," she replied around them, with a little headshake. "Keep hid, keep safe."

"I won't tell," he promised. "But we ought to check he's still there, right? Check no humans have found him?"

She _hrm_-ed softly, then nodded, and gave the co-ordinates. Sky Spy zoomed down closer, and revealed the smallest slivers of red and blue paint, gleaming through gaps in the foliage. Didn't seem to have moved even an inch since she'd last seen him. "Still hurt," she observed, quietly.

"…would you like for us to go fetch him?" Jazz asked, carefully. "Help make him better?"

Footloose sucked on her fingers and considered it for a very long time. Starscream had told her she could get help to go looking for Thundercracker, but hadn't said the same about himself. And she knew he didn't like Autobots. "No," she replied, at last, very quietly. "Jas Autobot. Sta'zim not Autobot. Be unhappy."

"All right," Jazz smiled, reassuringly. "We won't go get him yet. We _did _best get you back to the medical bay, though." He lifted her to his shoulder, rising from his seat. "_And_ a bath. You're still mostly mud-coloured."

Footloose made little grumbly noises, but didn't refuse quite so openly as she had previously. Her joints were all gritty, and getting clean might not be so bad, anyway, she reasoned. "We call Day Skawar now?" she wondered, quietly, as Jazz carried her back to the makeshift nursery. "To come get?"

"We probably ought to wait for him to contact us," Jazz demurred. "I'm not sure how to get hold of him, to be honest, and I don't want anyone else listening in."

Footloose gave him a long, probing look. "That big matter?" she asked.

"Well, as I recall, a little spark told me that she was to keep hid from Megatron," Jazz reminded, brows canting lopsidedly. "I don't think it's a good idea for us to tell him you're hiding here with us, in case he tries to come get you."

She shrank back against him. "No Meg'tron," she agreed, quietly. "Stay here, safe with Jas. Day Skawar come here, be safe also."

Jazz smiled at the painful irony in it. "You know, I never thought I'd agree that quite possibly _was _in his best interest," he commented, quietly.

"…Jas think Day hurt?" she wondered, lip wobbling.

Jazz gave her a serious look. "I won't lie to you, Button. I think there's a good chance he's in trouble, if your uncles have been shot down as well."

She clicked softly, the little staticky noises of distress just audible under the stutter of her fans. "All lost," she said, faintly, and dimmed her optics, miserably. "Ama, Day, Seem, Sta'zim, Dacker, me, all. Oosie make things go bad, should be good and stay home."

"Hey, hey, don't get upset, Button," Jazz soothed, boosting her up a little. "It's not your fault. We'll sort things out, and get you home-"

"Wow, Jazz – that's one tiny robot you've got there! Where'd it come from?"

The unexpected exclamation made them both jump. Footloose jolted, startled, and shrank back against Jazz's chassis, tucking her head up against his throat. "Suishie," she pointed out, in her native tongue, in a tight, frightened whisper. "Said no Suishies, Jas!"

Jazz made sure he had a relaxed smile in place before replying. If _he_ was unconcerned, perhaps she'd get the idea as well… "This is Spike," he explained, as the small male human approached, head perked curiously to one side. "He's a good friend of ours."

"But is hooming!" She stared down at Spike without moving, as if she could blend into her guardian's armour and go unnoticed.

"That's right. He's a nice human," Ratchet confirmed, emerging from behind his desk. "He helps us out around the _Ark_."

Jazz shared a look with the approaching medic, hoping introducing her to Spike would work; the young man was about as inoffensive a human as they knew, and might be just what they needed to teach the little female that not all humans were bad. For his part, Spike had kept his distance, respectfully, noticing the infant's frightened body language and guessing what all the clicks meant.

Footloose jammed the top of her head harder up under Jazz's chin, looking away. "Tricky hoomings. Say one thing, do different," she argued, softly, looking like she was trying to crawl under the top of his armour.

"Now now," Ratchet scolded, gently. "Completely ignoring the point that Spike isn't the unkind sort, anyway, do you really think we'd let him hurt you? Come on, Button, no-one will do anything to you while we're here."

"Scary Suishies," she repeated, gazing fearfully down at Spike, and sucked her fingers.

"You know, guys? Maybe I _should _just go, this time," Spike suggested, glumly, backing off. "I'm only scaring her."

"One second, Spike…" Jazz lifted a hand in a _stay_ gesture. "Button? If I said to you that Spike was nice, and only wanted to say hello, would you believe me?"

Footloose hesitated for a very long time, fingers still in her mouth. Suishie hoomings were tricky, she already had experience of that… but Jas was nice, was her friend. She didn't think Jas would lie to her. Which meant that the Spike-hooming must be nice, like they said? She worried at the underside of her fingers with her denta for a moment or two, before finally nodding. "Jas not make lies," she agreed, quietly, keeping the fingers of her free hand tight on Jazz's thumb as he crouched to let her down to the ground. "Hello Suishie Spike hooming."

Spike smiled, confusedly. "Er, hi," he replied, holding out his hand and looking askance at Jazz. "What's 'swishy' mean, Jazz?" he wondered, quietly, while Footloose inspected the hand, wondering why it was being held in her direction.

Jazz made a face."…I'll explain later."

"Spike hooming warm," Footloose observed, using her own fingers to examine Spike's. "How his brain not stop?"

"Humans work better if they're warm," Spike explained, knowingly. "Being cold makes us cratchity…"

"Good thinking, Jazz," Ratchet complimented, watching the two small figures begin to discuss their nothing in more earnest. "I'd begun to worry I'd have to keep them separate, after what you told me last night."

"Ah, that's not good thinking, it's just... well, she's young." Jazz waved it off, feeling Footloose's grip on his thumb beginning to relax. "One bad experience won't keep her down forever. I bet you she's fallen off a dozen tall things, but still goes climbing, right?"

"Whoo, Jazz, what have you and Prowl been up to in secret?"

Ungh. Trust Sideswipe to shatter the peace. Footloose startled straight back into Jazz's arms at the unfamiliar voice, alarmed, and peeked up over his shoulder at the newcomer; this wasn't a hooming, though, and she calmed down a lot more quickly.

"Isn't she the tiny one! Couldn't you find a protoform a bit bigger than this, Jazzman?" Sideswipe wondered, crouching and listening to Jazz's clucks of amusement. "Hey, Sunny! Come look at this!"

"Am Button," Footloose told him, earnestly. "From Cy'tron! I am stay with Jas."

A breem or two was all it took for pretty much every mech aboard to have crowded into the medical suite to investigate the source of the commotion. Ratchet looked like he was having to keep his vocaliser offline altogether to avoid yelling at everyone to get out; the repair bay had accumulated so many mechs, all curious over their little visitor, that now he couldn't do _any_ work. At least they were having the required effect of calming her.

Jazz watched from the sidelines as the sparkling got passed around the crowd (squeaking excitedly at all the attention) – all these friendly, interested, chatty machines were distracting her from the alarming "Squishy", and she seemed to have almost – but only _almost_ – begun to just consider him another member of the crowd, not a dangerous xenobiological.

"Have you told them?" a deep, gentle voice wondered, from somewhere above and behind.

"Not yet, Optimus." Jazz shook his head, not looking up, knowing what the unspoken part of the question was. "Letting them get to know her as an inoffensive and curious little sparkling seemed prudent, before they find out whose progeny she is and get any, ah… wrong ideas."

"Good, good. Those had been my thoughts as well," Optimus admitted, reassured. "I very much doubt our friends would react badly to _her_, but they may not take kindly to the idea of letting her go back to her _family_."

"Not that her family are in a very good place either, if my hunch is correct." Jazz followed the larger mech down the corridor, back towards Teletraan-1, where Prowl had probably already set up camp to review the previous evening's reports. "I know for sure at least one of them is in pretty bad shape, and I wouldn't be surprised if they all are."

Optimus looked down at him, and narrowed his optics. "Can you elaborate?"

Jazz sighed. "Well, I told Button I'd keep it secret, but I figure a couple of hints won't hurt. Two have been shot down, and the third is probably suffering the brunt of the warlord's anger."

"Not a pleasant concept, Jazz, even when it comes to Decepticons," Optimus mused, grimly. "I daren't think what it might mean for us, if Megatron catches wind of the fact we have the little one…"

As predicted, Prowl was already in the monitoring room, cycling slowly through the reports the remote systems had compiled for him. "Good morning," he greeted, distractedly.

"Good morning to you too, Prowl," Optimus replied, amiably. "Do you have anything for us, yet?"

"Maybe, but it may be nothing. Teletraan-1 reports there was a disturbance at one of our monitoring stations, some time yesterday evening," Prowl explained, glancing up. "I was just about to direct Sky Spy to give us some visuals."

"Carry on." Optimus nodded. "Can you pin down the nature of the disturbance?"

"Not conclusively, but I get the impression that Decepticon jets were heavily involved." Prowl wrinkled his lip, unimpressed, and stabbed at the keys with stiff, irritable fingers. "Looks like the usual Seeker idiocy. Perhaps target practice, with an unattended monitoring point as the target."

What had once been a rocky valley with a well-defined dirt track around one bank and a river along the bottom had turned into a bit of a warzone for a few small segments of its length. The cliffs bore the dull black scorchmarks of high-intensity weapons-blasts, and the bank had subsided all the way down into the bottom of the ravine for a good hundred or so yards, damming the little river and turning the clean waters turbid with silt.

"All that effort for a relay station," Sideswipe observed, from behind. "I guess it's a bit reassuring to see they _still _couldn't hit the side of a house, even if they tried real hard."

"I thought you and Sunstreaker were taking charge of the little meet-and-greet going on in the medical bay?" Prowl challenged, not looking up.

"Nah, too many guys in there. Besides, I felt like seeing what was up, because I heard the magic word."

"Seekers?"

"That's the one."

Prowl gave him a hard look. "Well, seeing as you clearly have nothing better to do, maybe you'd like to go and see if there's anything worth salvaging from the monitoring station…"

0o0o0o0o0

_I WISH he would just shut up._

Mitchell hadn't slept well. To start with, he never did very well in this sort of stifling desert weather, and just to compound it, Vallory was out like a light – a very noisy, snoring light; the lazy ass sounded like a freaking truck, himself – on the bunk opposite him. The arms dealer had been reduced to laying staring at his watch, and was waiting for the alarm to go off so they could all get back on the road again when the soft _skshh_ of machinery attracted his attention. It was an odd sound – not one he could readily place, a sort of shifting sibilant noise, like a hundred tiny hydraulic pumps all operating at once, old gears moving and badly-lubricated plates sliding against each other. It vanished as rapidly as it had started up, replaced by the dull _thump… thump…_ of large feet carrying a heavy body. Mitchell hastily kicked his own feet into his shoes, and rolled off his pallet to see what was going on.

He glanced around the corner of his tent to find Deuce's truck was missing – which struck him as odd, but mostly because the Collector's operative had told him numerous times that revealing his true nature in front of any of Mitchell's team was not on his itinerary. For him to be breaking his own self-imposed rule, it must mean either he'd been given some new instructions by their employer, or – heaven forbid – something had gone wrong. His large footprints were imprinted clearly on the sandy ground, though, a line of big oblongs leading away around the vehicle lot, so answers wouldn't be too far away. Mitchell followed the trail – albeit warily, not really wanting to know what he'd find at the end of it.

Around the corner, tucked away between the two lorries, with a tent at the front and a wall at the back to prevent too many prying eyes from seeing, sat the dark blue truck – although now it was a dark blue robot. As the weapons dealer watched, it materialised a small vial of strange green liquid out of nowhere, and gave it a shake, sending threads of eerie glowing lilac curling through it… then uncapped it, and swallowed the contents with a grimace.

"What are you up to?" Mitchell challenged.

Deuce jumped, unaware that he'd been watched, then gave the human a sour look and waved the vial, accusingly. "Medication."

Mitchell folded his arms and lounged against the front wheel-arch of the lefthand lorry. "What, our atmosphere making you sick, huh?" he sneered. "Need some antibiotics for that poor delicate constitution?"

Deuce gave him a leer that reminded him strongly of bared teeth. "They're neuroleptics, actually," he explained, grimly. "Tranquilisers and mood stabilisers. I have an, ah…" Green eyes glittered, unnervingly. " 'Unstable personality disorder'. Too many aeons spent abusing various chemicals."

Mitchell actually unfolded his arms and straightened up, alarmed. "What? Nobody told me you were-… that is, you mean you're, ah-"

"Sick? Crazy? Mentally unstable? Criminally insane?" the robot interrupted, irritably, and waved a dismissive hand. "Apply whatever slang you like to it, _human_. I might be mentally ill, but it's controllable." He returned the sneer, although it looked painful. "What, you don't think machines can have psychoses?"

"I, ah… guessed they could just fix your programming-"

Deuce smiled, bitterly. "Do you know how complex our programming is? Far more intricate than your squashy pink processors." He waved a dark finger at Mitchell's head. "Alter one part of one program, and you alter another dozen as a cascade consequence. There is no 'quick fix'."

"So how does that stuff work?" Mitchell gestured at the glass container still in Deuce's fingers, not bothering to correct him on the intricacies of his own 'squishy pink processors'. "I can understand it in chemical-based life-forms, like us humans, but if you're all programs, how does a chemical alter how you function?"

"It's viral." Deuce stared down at the glowing dregs in the vial, and shook his head, visibly calming. "I get a good two or three Terran days of stability from one dose, then my firewalls purge it back off. I hoped to be back home before I needed the next dose. I don't know if you'd understand the concept, but, ah…" He forced another of those feral, pained grins. "I don't particularly like being watched, and especially not by a _hyoo-mun_. I'd prefer that the only party to my weaknesses was me."

"And your-… ah, _our_… employer," Mitchell added.

"Yes." Deuce sagged – almost imperceptibly, but it was there. It was worrying, to see such a powerful brute of a machine _shrink_ when their master was mentioned. "Yes, and them," he went on, hollowly. "I don't have a whole lot of secrets left, where they're concerned."

"Is that why they've got such a hold on you?" Mitchell wasn't entirely sure he liked the idea that this mechanical sociopath was so subjugated by his employer; he knew from experience that people like that were often very easily persuaded into unsavoury things, and didn't want to be on the receiving end of it.

"Partly. Our joint employer was the one to release me from prison, if you must know," Deuce explained, softly, turning the vial between finger and thumb. "I owe them a debt of gratitude, and of course they supply my medications. Chemistry was, ah… never my forte. Not like-" He swallowed the words, and forced a sneering smile. "That is to say, I can't _design _the chemicals, but I'm fairly experienced in what they _do_…"

By the time the alarm went off for the fourth time and Vallory finally emerged from the tent, grumbling and rubbing his head, Deuce the robot was Deuce the truck again, his 'holoform' already sitting in his cab, arms folded across his steering wheel. "Do you guys ever sleep?" he challenged, cigarette hanging from his lips, his words accompanied by the _fnik-fnik-fnik _of a cheap lighter.

"There's '_sleep_', and then there's what _you _do, Val," Mitchell argued, pithily. "I'm surprised you could even hear your alarm. How the heck does your girlfriend sleep over your snoring?"

Vallory shrugged, finally getting the lighter to work. "Earplugs."

0o0o0o0o0

"Whoa, talk about a _landslide_, here…!"

Sideswipe put his hands onto his hips, and stared over the ruined landscape in front of him. Sky Spy's visuals just didn't do justice to actually seeing the destruction up close and personal; what had looked like sand and gravel from the orbiting satellite's imagery turned out to include great slabs of rock, and boulders easily the size of his own head.

"Primus-damned Seekers," Sunstreaker groused, standing up behind him. "Just _once,_ I wish they'd keep their nosecones out of our business."

"Aw, lay off, Sunny." Sideswipe, already halfway up the pile of debris, bounced a clod of mud off his brother's head. "You're only sour because it means you have to get your hands dirty."

"That sounds like a perfectly acceptable reason to be sour, thank you," Sunstreaker retorted, returning fire with a rock. "Let's just get finished here and head off. I feel the urge to discuss Prowl's choice of duty assignments with him..."

"Well _that's_ weird," Sideswipe murmured, genuinely sounding puzzled, once they reached the other side of the landslip and uncovered the monitoring station – hardly even dented by the bouncing rocks, and certainly not badly scorched. "The little thing Prowler's obsessing over hardly got hit."

"So we tell him that, and go back." Sunstreaker was already turning away down the track. "And give him a hard time for the next three Terran orns for wasting our time."

"No, hey, wait wait wait, that wasn't what I meant…" Sideswipe waved his hands around. "I mean, don't you think it's a bit odd?"

"I think if Seekers are involved, we should take that as a given. Come on, Sides-"

"You can go ahead if you want, I want to see what they were shooting at." Sideswipe was already digging, shovelling away handfuls of dirt and sending more boulders cascading into the ravine. "As it clearly wasn't anything of ours."

"Sides! They were just being their usual glitching selves! They were probably just raising the Pit because they felt like it!" Sunstreaker spread his hands, exasperated.

"What are you still hanging around for? I thought you were going back."

Sunstreaker sidestepped the cascade of grit, gave a beleaguered sigh, and joined in his brother's digging. "All right, but you _owe_ me for this. _Big_ time. And if there's nothing here you are getting your aft kicked big time, as well."

"I knew I could always count on your sunny disposition, Sunny," Sideswipe quipped, accidentally-on-purpose shovelling dirt square into his twin's face.

They had been digging for a cycle or two – and Sunstreaker had almost reached his break point, where he carried out his threat to leave Sideswipe to do all the hard work alone – when the red twin stopped working anyway.

"What?" A distinctly beige-coloured Sunstreaker called up at him.

Sideswipe had paused his shovelling, and crouched down. "I think I've found what they were shooting at."

"What?"

Sideswipe crouched and brushed grit away, and revealed a set of large, dexterous green fingers. "There's someone under here!"

"Some_one_? But we haven't had any reports of missing persons…" Sunstreaker peered warily down at the digits. "It could be a trap, Sides."

"Oh, pssh, like they're _that_ clever." Sideswipe threw up his hands. "Come on, let's see if they're still alive. Put your back into it-!"

0o0o0o0o0

Mitchell's team reached the little Egyptian town of el-Hagg Qandil just shy of sun-up. It had been another night of hard driving, and even Deuce looked somewhat "staggery" as he led them down the dirt road to the little cluster of tents on the outskirts of town, but the relief at finally reaching their destination was palpable. Everyone – Mitchell included – descended like vultures on the shady parts of the tent-village, and all that could be heard for several long minutes was the _hss_ of cans being opened and sighs of relief at the cool and rest.

"So when do we make the final delivery?" Mitchell wondered, sitting next to Deuce's holographic driver and watching as the non-existent man took a draught from his bottle of non-existent water. "We going to wait until sundown?"

"I thought it would be best," Deuce agreed, watching the fine skeins of new sun threading their way between the gaps in the cliffs. "Your men are tired. I should not like them to crash at this late stage."

"You mean _you're _tired," Mitchel corrected, amusedly. "I saw the way you wove along the road earlier."

Deuce wrinkled his nose, unimpressed. "I _am_ low on fuel, yes," he confirmed, irritably, "but I have reserves stockpiled in el-Hagg Qandil, I need only to fetch them."

Mitchell chuckled and relaxed down in his chair, setting his feet up on the table.

…Their captive machine caught them completely blind-sided. One moment and Mitchell was discussing the intricacies of the delivery with Deuce, and the next second and there was a yell of alarm that the robot was loose, and a splintering _kick_ from a strong black foot sent three of Mitchell's most loyal flying like windblown leaves. No need to ask if they were all right – only one hadn't instantly been reduced to wet pink rags, and he lay shrieking and bleeding out in the dust, a fountain of dark red gushing from a ruptured femoral artery.

"Who in _fuck _let it escape?!" Mitchell bellowed, bolting for cover even as the flier homed in on his voice and pursued him. "Someone put the bastard down again, already!"

Deuce took unexpected charge of the situation – he had already unfolded himself and was sprinting for the truck with the EM-cannon, only too aware that spooking the humans could mean _he _got shot with it, instead of the Decepticon. Reassuringly, people scattered out of his path, terrified of the blot of morning-stained shadow bearing down on them, and when he tore the flimsy canopy off the truck the cannon was unattended…

Thundercracker looked up just in time to catch the briefest glimpse of glowing green optics staring him down, before a bolt of crackling blue power _thumped_ through the air between them and slugged him dead-centre of the chassis, strong as a kick from an irritable Menasor. He felt himself toppling backwards, relays choking up, freezing out, but when his head finally impacted the dirt with a dull _crunch_ that could be felt yards away through the substrate, he was already unconscious.

0o0o0o0o0

"…tc…? …teee seee…? …thuuuun-der-cracker…?"

There was a voice calling his name. He grunted, feebly, and shifted his shoulders. It was a voice he felt he ought to recognise, but he couldn't place it, and a raw, distorted groan like that should have been easily recalled. Maybe it was something to do with the heat. Everything was so hot, so sluggish. It was like trying to think with a brain full of sump oil.

"…tee-see… are you okay…? …TC…! …speak to me…!"

He homed in on the voice, regardless of who it belonged to. It obviously knew him well enough to want to use his nickname, and seemed concerned about him, so he figured it was possibly safe to think it was friendly. Right? He struggled to get his optics online, chasing his recalibrating systems and directing the slow recalibration in more useful directions. Recalibrating his gyroscopes could wait until he'd got a good look at where he was, and could attempt to defend himself…

"That's it, TC…" the voice encouraged, seeing the sullen maroon as his vision came back online – still all blurs, but resolving. "Doing good… Here, let me help you sit up…" Fingers hooked shakily underneath his upper arm; there was the scuffle of feet across the floor, and a shoulder applied itself to his armpit, scooting him with difficulty back into a rough-hewn wall.

At first, he completely failed to recognise the spectre that had sat back on its heels in front of him, and not just because his vision still hadn't cleared; it looked like a reject from a recycling facility. It had probably once been brightly coloured, but it was now a grimy beige and grey, covered in scrawls of black Cybertronian handwriting.

The recognition that followed an astro-second or two later was like a physical kick in the energon converter; he actually recoiled. "Primus-…! Tell me that isn't actually you, Pulse-"

Pulsar forced a smile, although the left half her face didn't seem to want to keep up with the right half. "I can if you want. I don't know it'd help, though," she rasped, her once lightly-accented voice now the harsh croak of a steel raven.

The spindly little gravity bike had seen some very better days. Her right arm was missing altogether, wires and the remains of a fluid handling system trailing pathetically from the exposed socket, and someone had hacked into the enamel of her shoulder-guard to alter the wording of her insignia. What used to simply read 'Police' had been turned into a particularly indecent (and rather unkind) description of her supposed promiscuity. Her optics were dull, looking almost completely offline; one was greyed out, sightless, and the other was dim and spiderwebbed with so many cracks that her _actual _vision must have been nothing more than blurs. She certainly had no depth perception, any more.

"What in Primus name has that crackpot done to you?" the jet breathed, horrified, unconsciously reaching forwards then recoiling further away.

"He says I'm his work in progress," she rasped, softly; her vocaliser was mostly buzz, the words difficult to discern through distortions. She forced a smile; painful, beaten. "I'm looking good, right? A real improvement over last-… over last time."

With her harsh new voice, it was difficult to tell if she was being sarcastic, or had been drugged up until she believed it. Thundercracker hoped it was the former; even drugged past the point of caring, no-one could think they looked _better_ now than they did with all their faculties intact and attached.

"So where are we?" He asked, quietly, studying their sparse room – carved directly out of the rock, it looked like, all dull gingery-white and jagged edges. A door just narrow enough that he'd be forced to pass through it sideways led into a corridor, but an ephemeral, flickering violet implied some sort of energon-bars blocked it.

"Underground, somewhere. I don't know. I've never been outside the complex – not awake, anyway. I just know it's hot, down here. It's cooler in the corridors, but he doesn't want us functioning at peak efficiency."

_He_? Thundercracker reviewed his memory record, and recalled the stark, brilliant green optics that had stared him down, across the top of the cannon. And who should choose that very moment to disengage the bars and enter the cell but-

"_You_," Thundercracker snarled, and _threw_ himself at Deuce.

The truck gave a yelp of alarm and went to bolt, but the Seeker collided hard with him and sprawled both of them to the floor. "Wait, _wait_, I can explain!" he wailed, but his assailant was offering no quarter. The fact that the truck was heavier than the jet by a good third as much again didn't seem to matter – Thundercracker had him pinned, and delivered three good solid blows around his audios before the mech could defend himself.

"You tell me _right now,_ what in _all Primus' sweet names_ is _slagging well going on?_" Thundercracker howled, full volume, and Deuce yelped audibly and clamped his hands down over his audios. "And _where is Seem_?!" He grasped the truck's antennae and used them like hand-holds, lifting his head and crunching it hard back into the rough floor.

"TC, TC! Wait, wait, stop it-" That was-… slag, the femme was in on this?! But how _could_ she be, all smashed to bits like that-

His assailant's momentary inattention was all Deuce needed to gather his strength and flip the jet off him; he didn't go straight into the offensive, though. He actually scuttled out of the way, whimpering.

"Deuce has been helping me," Pulsar explained, shakily. "He's the only reason I'm still mostly in one piece."

"So-… what?" Thundercracker sat back on his heels, and stared long and hard at the curled, whimpery figure by the wall. "If he's _helping_-… who in Primus-…"

He never got the chance to finish his sentence.

"Evening, friends," a voice drawled, from the doorway, and everyone turned to look. Holding an unconscious, floppy Slipstream to his chest like a macabre shield was a face from the past. A face that Thundercracker had certainly never counted on seeing again.

"Mister Thundercracker," Siphon greeted, and smirked, darkly. "Welcome to the Pit."


	9. Chapter 8

**Warped - Chapter Eight**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously Ocs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N: **Aaaarghulumph. NaNoWriMo is kicking my aft this year. I have 6000 words to catch up on tomorrow. :dies: Anyway!

Quick explanation: gamma-camera = robot x-ray

* * *

"So. Here w all are. Quite the happy little gathering," Siphon crooned, darkly, his thin lips pulled back off his teeth in a snarling smirk, and gave Deuce a quick boot in the skidplate. "Except you. Get out, for Pit's sake. Quite sure I can do without _your_ cowardly whimpering along with everything I say."

The truck scuttled out, obediently, arms protectively over his head, looking more like a beaten animal than the menace who'd provided a lot of the muscle behind the whole Blue regime only a few hundred orns ago. It was a little unnerving – the olive-coloured tanker was significantly smaller than both the truck _and_ the jet, and Deuce would probably have easily defeated him in a straight fight, and yet the navy mech looked quite openly afraid of his employer.

"Useless little nonentity," Siphon muttered to himself, quietly. "Quite how they ever discovered he'd be useful as an addict, I have no idea, because that's the only time he ever _has_ been useful…"

The spidery little machine advanced into the room, holding the unconscious sparkling in front of him like some sort of shield – and it was an effective tactic, because Thundercracker actually kept his distance.

"You have no idea how relieved I am he got _you_, of all of them," Siphon purred, sweetly. "The only one with a modicum of sanity about him."

"I hope you realise that no amount of careful reasoning, or _bribery_, will get me onto your side," Thundercracker argued, his fingers flexing impotently into fists at his sides, so angry he was shaking. He wanted to just… reach out, and ram his fist through the tanker's spark, but the smaller mech had his fingers twisted around Slipstream's narrow throat, and was holding the tiny machine right in the wrong place, square in the way of a blow.

"Of course I _realise_. I may be many things, but I am not an idiot," the tanker sneered. "No, I don't need your _permission_ or your _agreement_ for what I have planned. I just need two things – your likeness, and for you to be _out of the way_." His lips pulled back in a sneering grin. "You are your trine's voice of sanity. You are the stabilising influence, the spark of clarity, and the brake on your wing-mates' idiocy. Without you to keep that moronic Skywarp on an even keel, it doubles my chances at catching him."

"You know they won't just stand by and let you do this. They'll track me down, and when they do-"

"I'll be sorry, I know," Siphon finished the sentence, melodramatically, touching his long fingertips to his chest. "The raging psychopath will sob and plead forgiveness at the feet of the mighty Decepticon warriors, seeking justice for the way their brother was treated."

"You should have just stayed _dead_," Thundercracker whispered, infuriated.

"No, _you_ should have _checked_ I was dead," Siphon snapped, for once showing his anger, stabbing a long finger in his captive's direction, like a spear; Slipstream made a soft, slurring noise of discomfort as the hand tensed around his little throat. "Not just… throw me down the rift, leave me too broken to drag myself out, and _abandon_ me there! If you were going to kill me, you should have damn well _killed me_. Not done half the job, and crossed your fingers!"

"Is that what this is all about?"

"Never you mind what this is about! I am not going to explain my actions to _you_!" Siphon glared, and at last thrust out a hand, offering the sedated infant to the trembling Seeker. "All you need to know is that unless you behave yourself," he instructed, darkly, "the little one will die. It's that simple."

"And how do you imagine _that_ will work, given that _I_ have the little one, now?" Thundercracker challenged, closing his arms protectively around Slipstream.

The tanker's lips drew back into that self-satisfied smirk that had driven Skywarp so close to bludgeoning him to pieces so many times back on Cybertron. "You'll notice that little piece of jewellery he wears?"

Thundercracker inspected the small body, and easily found the bulky collar, hidden until now by the tanker's spidery fingers.

"It's keyed to my voiceprint," the tanker went on. "And full of high-grade tricobalt residues. You slag me off? I recite the key sequence, and whoops! No more sparkling."

"You're bluffing," Thundercracker asserted, lifting his chin and unconsciously trying to move further away. "You kill him, and you won't have anything to keep me under control."

Siphon spread his hands, offhand. "Perhaps. But then I'm inclined to think you won't want to test the hypothesis, correct?" He allowed himself a smug laugh. "Besides. It'll just be another little bit of ammunition for me. Not only will his stupid policebike be too scared and broken – and I'm not just talking physically – to want to ever go anywhere _near _him again, I'll be able to tell Skywarp that his beloved wingmate killed his sparkling. The little one has no worth to me except as a bargaining chip. Do as you're told? And the little one is fine. Frag me about?" He spread his hands, and smiled, genially. "Boom."

"What if I kill _you,_ before you get the chance to recite anything?" Thundercracker advanced a single step, and the tanker backed away three.

"I am not the _idiot _you take me for," Siphon hissed, softly, irritable at having been startled into showing his fright. "I have taken precautions against such an eventuality. Your own collar is keyed as a stasis mantle; a low resonance _ping_ and I take all your co-ordination away. In the event you somehow counter _that_, well… Kill me, and _all three_ of you go the same way. The instant my spark destabilises, your own collars detonate. Now I don't know about _you_, but _I_ personally wouldn't want to experiment with how long my spark will remain harmonic without my cortex to broadcast the appropriate stabilising signals." His lips drew back into a smirk. "You can't escape me, and you can't kill me. You are utterly dependent on me and my good nature to stay alive. So how about just, I don't know… be a good little mech, and do as you're told, hmm?"

Thundercracker glared at him, his optics all but sizzling in his infuriation, but backed down. Slipstream grumbled drowsily and nuzzled his cheek closer against his guardian's throat; his sedation was obviously starting to wear off.

"Enough talk. You haven't refuelled in orns, if I recall. Here." Siphon flicked his wrist. "I don't want you collapsing this early in the game."

Thundercracker put out a hand and easily snagged the muddy brown cube that sailed gracelessly through the air in his direction; energon of such a low grade it was barely even lilac, and going to be next to worthless, in the event it wasn't full of sedatives anyway. "This isn't going to go very far, I hope you realise," he pointed out, grimly.

"It's not supposed to," Siphon argued. "Make sure you leave enough for the little ankle-biter. I checked his tanks, and they're just as empty as yours."

"…and Pulsar?"

"Ah, don't you worry about her. Since I don't trust her to actually fuel up properly, the femme gets my own special blend." The tanker advanced on the tired-faced machine huddled in the corner. "Time for supper, Beautiful," he said, softly, crouching in front of her.

She turned her face away from him, but didn't seem capable of much fight, any more. "Don't want it. Got enough in my tanks to last a few days," she replied, stubbornly.

"I'm not interested in what you _want_," he corrected, softly. "You going to behave yourself or am I going to have to remove your options, again?"

"You never give me any _options_," she corrected, bitterly.

"I give you two very good options," he argued, standing over her. "I can be gentle, or not. Those are excellent options. But since you seem more inclined to argue than just take your medicine, it's obviously going to have to be the hard way. Again."

She shied back from him, but he was in better condition _and_ heavier; caught her arm and dragged her away from the wall. She protested her alarm, scrabbling her heels across the ground in an effort to act as brakes, but the tanker remained unimpressed, not even pretending to make an effort to be gentle. He dropped his weight squarely down on her, straddling her broken chest, and _rammed_ his funnel down her intakes. She bucked energetically under his hands, obviously hurt, but he leaned harder, pushing downwards until he couldn't get his nozzle any further, and used his weight to keep the back of her head against the rough floor. She scrabbled her broken feet across the floor for a second or two longer, but even that finally slowed.

"Just because _he_'s here, now, it doesn't entitle you to cause a fuss," Siphon hissed, quietly, keeping his weight pressed down on her intakes. "You've been such a _good_ little femme the past few Terran orns, don't go and spoil all that lovely training I gave you…"

The low hiss of equalising pressure gave her just enough warning to close off her air vents, and a millisecond later a blast of icy ultra-low-grade hit her pumps. She made a funny little gurgling noise of pain around his funnel, and scraped her battered fingers over him, trying to get him to take the hint and get off her.

He pinched his fingers down around her lips, ensuring they made a tight seal against his funnel. "Either you swallow, or you choke," he whispered, softly. "Your choice if you want it in your tanks or your vents, but it's going in one way or another. And with all the sand that's already in your temperature regulator? I'm no doctor, but I'm guessing you'll jam up completely with all the crystallites. Won't be a very comfy way to grey out, I can tell you that right off the bat."

After another second or two of weighing her options, at last her optics dimmed out and she slackened her fight.

"There's a good little femme," Siphon cooed, petting her antennae and making her shudder. "I knew you'd see sense again."

Eventually, the tanker decided she'd had enough, and got back off her. Pulsar remained in her corner; curled herself up, protectively, and wheezed quietly for a while, struggling to clear fluid off her vents.

Thundercracker had kept up a gentle harmonic the whole time, trying to keep the stirring infant lulled into just the right side of recharge so he wouldn't see what Siphon was doing to his dam. It was an unpleasant, almost _sexual_ sort of abuse; he'd always known from talking to Skywarp that the tanker was something of a sociopath, but hadn't had the joy of seeing it quite so up close and personal... Now Siphon had apparently got bored, he guessed it was safe to make a move - no risk of small mechs waking up to see nasty things. The blue Seeker set his jaw, and let Slipstream gently back to the sandy floor; Decepticon or not, he wasn't going to stand for having to watch _this_ re-enacted every day.

"Next time," he said, softly, in that tone of voice that permitted no nonsense, blocking Siphon's way as he headed for the door, "_I_ will be feeding her. You will be giving me her ration in a cube, like any normal machine should be entitled to, and you will keep your nozzles away."

"Oh, is that so?" Siphon challenged, staring boldly up at him. "And _who_ is going to make me?"

"You're not so smart as you like to think you are." Thundercracker let his voice descend into a soft hum of threat. "I could kick your face in before you got the chance to activate any of your little devices. So long as your spark is stable, we're safe, right? All I have to do is stop you _thinking_…"

"Ha. You're not so smart, either," the smaller machine snapped, waving a threatening finger under the flier's nose. "Watch your manners or you'll be getting the same treatment."

Thundercracker stared him down, trying to ignore the tingle in the back of his neck. His limbs had already grown sluggish, poorly responsive, but he was damned if he was going to let _this_ little slagger know that… "I have to confess that I would _love_ to see you just _try it_," he replied, with a lazy smile. "I'm inclined to think that's a little beyond your capabilities, though. Because if you were anything more than just a big tank of hot air? You'd have already done it."

Siphon gave him a shove, bravely. "You don't know what you are dealing with!" he snapped.

"So enlighten me," Thundercracker shoved back. "Because I'm really looking forwards to finding out why such an abstract pile of reject parts thinks he can go up against one of the most feared warriors from the last age, and get away _with his plating intact_."

In something like a testament to his bravery – or perhaps just to his lack of sanity – the tanker barely flinched from the implied threat. "You are here, oh mighty warrior," Siphon snarled, shakily, "because you are the _bait_. I _will_ get my hands on that worthless little blob of tin that left me in this condition, and _when I do…_"

_This was all just about some petty sort of revenge?_ "You do realise," Thundercracker countered, warily, "that it was _Megatron_ ordered me shot down, don't you? Which probably means Skywarp is in no place to respond to 'the bait'?"

"Oh, I'm patient. I've had to learn to be," Siphon countered, slipping past. "Stuck in the District Rift with no easy way out, slowly going _insane_ as I withdrew off the product that had kept me going for orns? Do you know _how long_ it took me to crawl out of there?" He slapped a palm down on the controls, and there was a brief lilac _fizz _as the field came back up. "And Cali's never going to be the same. Not even after rehab." He laughed, angrily. "And _that_ concept is a joke. Rehab! They don't mean _rehabilitation_, they mean they're going to brutalise her mind until she's docile and stupid, tear out _everything_-" He caught himself, and swallowed the rest of his tirade. "I don't have to explain myself to you. The heap of spares is waking up."

_Curious._ Thundercracker saved those little gems of information carefully away, as he returned to the uncoordinated little dark figure attempting to work out where it was at the side of the room. _Never know when he might be able to make use of them…_ He scooped Slipstream carefully up off the sand before he sat on him, and listened to the reassuring little chirps and clicks as the sparkling slowly returned to his full processor speed. "You all right in there, Pulse?" he coaxed, watching the femme draw herself up into a sitting position, apparently satisfied her vents were clear. "What was that all about?"

"Just our little ritual." Pulsar forced a smile. "He's, ah… been 'feeding' me like that ever since I woke up here," she husked, quietly, curling her knees up to her chest. "Even when I still had enough dexterity – and enough limbs – to fuel myself. Just enough low-grade, and a heavy shot of sedatives if I'm lucky, to keep me functioning. Seems to think that if he left me to do it myself, I just wouldn't fuel up, and let myself go into stasis."

"I figure he's not too far off the mark, is he?" Thundercracker wondered, gently.

She forced a smile. "No, he isn't. If it was a choice between enduring this and going into stasis lock, I'd choose the latter any day." She stared at the sleepy sparkling in the big mech's hands, and shifted her shoulders, uncomfortably. "I'm glad Seem's found a friend, if nothing else," she said, softly. "I was worried Siphon would have-" She bottled out before finishing the sentence, unwilling to even contemplate what the tanker might do, let alone vocalise it. "Promise me you'll look after him, TC?"

Thundercracker nodded, warily. "Well… all right. Although I'm confused why you don't want him any more."

The grav-bike met his gaze only reluctantly. "It's not that. I'm just… not sure how much more of this I can take. Or how much longer he'll leave me alive, now he's got you two."

Unspoken words hung awkwardly on the air between them. _Disposable. Just like always. _

"Listen. We _will _get out of here, and I don't mean in pieces. He'll slip up, because everyone does. All right?" Thundercracker gave her a long, stern look, and watched as she nodded, reluctantly. "In the meantime, you just… get some rest, huh? And I mean some proper rest, not that worthless sedated… _nothing_ they've been keeping you in. Defragment your stacks a bit. Sort your mind out. I'll keep an eye on things."

She dimmed out her optics, obediently, and let her chin down to rest on her knees, curling her arm around her legs. His words were somewhat comforting, but she knew deep down that they were hollow – the only way she was going to get out of here was in pieces, scattered across this whole mud-ball world like a macabre scavenger hunt. But some proper down-time _did_ feel like a good idea; she let her mind adrift, and listened absently as Slipstream finally roused all the way to alertness.

"Ama?" The little mech sounded frightened, shaky. "What happen? Ama!"

"Ama's sick, right now," she heard Thundercracker's deep voice rumble, softly. "She needs a little space so she can get better. You stay here with me, for now."

"But I want see-" The little one's voice was a pathetic little mew, and there was the rustle of plating as he tried to get free. "Ama…!"

"Not right now," Thundercracker repeated, sternly. "When she's feeling a bit better, you can say hello, but not just yet. All right?"

Slipstream whined softly to himself for a moment, harsh staticky little noises fizzing up from his vocaliser. "…'kay?" he agreed, reluctantly. "This why Ama lost? She sick?"

"That's right." A little lie, but it was probably easier than trying to explain the intricacies of the sociopath's mind to someone so young. "But now we've found her, we can get her made better. We'll get word to Day and Auntie Sepp, and they can come rescue us."

Another pause, filled only by the sparkling's soft, staticky noises of distress. "Why not now?"

Thundercracker's turn to pause. "Day's a very busy mech, and Sepp's a very long way away, all the way back home on Cybertron. It'll take a long time to get the message to them. So you let me worry about calling them, all right?" More sounds of movement. "In the meantime, you need to get some fuel into your tanks. Take this-… there's a good boy."

"_This_ energon?" Slipstream challenged, apparently accepting what remained of the murky brown cube. "But it not pink!"

"Yeah, I know. It's not _good _energon. But you need to have some. Keep your strength up until Day comes to rescue us, huh?"

She listened to the funny little spluttery _coughs_ her sparkling made as he inhaled energon down the wrong intake in shock at how purge-poor the fuel was, and could imagine his little optics leaking excess cleanser. "…this _bad _energon!" he wheezed, although he sounded more startled than upset. "There not different, Dacker?"

"No, there's no other fuel. We just get that."

"But it am yuck! Even _Lucy _not like this."

Thundercracker chuckled softly at the insinuation Footloose was the sort to try and utilise _anything_ as fuel. "Yeah, I know. I've had my own share of it. Tell you what…" He lowered his voice and finished speaking in a whisper. "If you be a good little mech and get a little bit in your tanks, we'll pretend you had more of it if anyone asks. You don't have to intake the whole thing…"

0o0o0o0o0

Morning had just broken on the _Ark_ when Perceptor arrived in the medical bay to feed his fish, nodding a greeting to the already-busy Ratchet – the scientist's small collection of xenobiotics had outgrown his laboratory already, and begun to spill over into common areas. So far, the Chief Medic had only permitted the fish in the medical bay, as they were clean and didn't shed hair and dander into delicate machinery, but the microscope was busy trying to persuade him to take one of the 'lizards' as well. (Perceptor kept on tripping over its tank, at the moment, it was only a matter of time before they had an escaped predator on their hands.)

Footloose was instantly at his side and all around his legs, excitedly. "I feed, I feed!" What it was that she liked about these colourful but rather inactive little blobs, Perceptor had yet to work out, because he had far more interesting creatures in his collection, but it kept her amused and distracted, which was the important bit.

"All right, but not too much!" He lifted her to the sideboard and handed over the small pot of fresh garden peas, glad he'd had the foresight not to bring the whole bag from the refrigerator. He had a convenient number of _uulu_-fish right now, if the sparkling overfed them (which was entirely possible, watching the way she scattered food into the tank with a wilful abandon, squeaking excitedly as the fish chased after it) it would trigger a breeding frenzy and he'd end up with more than he could look after. The genial Cosmos could probably be relied on to ship the excess back home, as he'd brought them back in the first place, but it was a long trip…

Yesterday, Perceptor had – predictably – joined the small number of machines who knew Footloose's secret. No-one had _told_ him, specifically; he'd managed to work most of it out himself, just by being observant. There was the way a certain group of machines went involuntarily quiet for a moment when the little one asked about "Day", there was her obsession with finding "Dacker" (which didn't take much thinking about to work out it was a name, not a thing), her colours and her little winglets, and finally he'd caught her talking to Jazz about "Skawar". After an anxious, heated discussion in one of the soundproof isolation rooms off the side of the medical bay, Jazz managed to swear Perceptor to a reluctant silence.

Reassuringly, Footloose didn't seem to be taking after her sire (or at least, how everyone remembered him). She was small and cute and curious about _everything_ – whether she should touch it or not. And she apparently liked fish. She sat heavily down on her small aft to watch the _uulu_s lazily swim about and collect up the last fragments of vegetable, and amusedly mimicked the slow open/close of the tiny round mouths in the tank. "Ob ob ob," she said, drawing a dark finger along the glass and getting them to chase it. "Nice Oolies."

"Oo-_loos_," Perceptor corrected, automatically, checking on the environment monitor on the side of the tank. Good, good, all conditionals still seemed optimal in there.

"Ooh!" Her exclamation attracted first his alarm, then his interest when he saw what she was asking about. "Why they do that, Septor?"

The fish had begun to sparkle, scintillating bright colours down and around their rotund little silver bodies; he cocked his head, curiously. "I have never seen them do that before," he admired. "We shall have to document this. For science!"

Footloose flickered her optics back at them, amusedly. "They happy, Septor?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I think we could probably safely assume they are…" The little animals were crowding at the front of the tank, and didn't seem to be attempting any aggression towards the infant.

"Hey, Ratch!" a voice interrupted the calm, from the corridor. "We've got a present for you!"

That sounded like Sideswipe. Ratchet straightened up, warily, wondering what minor disaster they'd turn out to be bringing him this time.

For once, he needn't have worried; the twins looked like they'd been using each other to plough fields, they were that dirty, but _they _looked uninjured. _No jet judo with unwilling and heavily-armed Seekers, this time, obviously. _

Slung between them, however, an arm spread across each shoulder, grumbling halfheartedly and uselessly trying to draw its feet up so it could support itself, was an unfamiliar, pale green machine. Its – no, not it, _her _dirty paintwork was scored with a dozen or so fresh black scorchmarks, so she'd run afoul of _someone_, and quite recently.

By the time they'd helped her over to the closest berth, and she'd sagged down onto it, Footloose had lost interest in her fish and noticed them…

"Aunnie Ausep!" The sparkling hurled herself off the sideboard, and sprang all the way into their visitor's startled arms, clicking so quickly she sounded like an excited football rattle. The strange 'earmuffs' at the sides of her head revealed themselves to be bright blue warning lights, flickering in an electric halo around her small head. She thrust the top of her helm up under the stranger's chin and keened an excited, rattling _purr_. "Se-epp."

"Ow, _ow_, steady-…! Button?" the green femme greeted, wincing, her thunderous voice strained out and thin with pain, peeling the squirming infant off her scuffed plating and holding her out at arms reach. "What are _you _doing here?"

"You must be Forceps," Ratchet guessed, carefully, putting two and two together and coming up with something like four. He offered a hand. "My name is Ratchet, Chief Medical Officer here. Welcome to the _Ark_."

"Ah, thank you. And you're quite correct on my name." The femme arched a brow at him, wondering how to juggle the sparkling in such a way as to accept the handshake, and pulled a face as Footloose's squirming got more energetic. "I'm not sure if-… _ow_… I should be relieved I'm that famous."

"I'm afraid _infamous_ would be a better term," Ratchet confirmed, dryly.

She wrinkled her nose. "I suspected as much," she replied, grimly. "I imagine that's going to come back to bite me again, very soon."

"Well, I wouldn't like to speak for my friends, here, but I think you should probably assume 'yes it will', once they work out who you are," Ratchet deadpanned back. "You _did_ put one of our most mortal enemies back together."

"Trying to imply you wouldn't have done the same, doctor? I'd like to think I'm not the only one in here with the 'infamy'."

Ratchet huffed, defensively. "That's rather beside the point, don't you think? Besides, I get the third-degree every day from this bunch of hooligans, there's not much new they can throw at me."

"I assure you, being Cybertron-based doesn't mean I've not seen my own fair share of accidental injuries. The surgery I do isn't _just_ cosmetic! To be honest, I'm surprised you've not have to dig the little one out of the furniture, yet."

Ratchet gave her a look. "I'm not sure I understand the last part, but then part of be thinks it's best not to."

"Ausep is good fixer," Footloose agreed, kicking her little legs hard enough to dislodge Forceps' grip and crawling back along her arm.

"All right, all right. Listen. Lucy?" Forceps skewered the little femme on a glare, but it didn't really have the desired effect. "I'm pleased to see you as well, but if you're going to _wriggle_, you can get down now."

"Lucy?" Ratchet echoed, curiously. "She said her name was 'Button'."

Forceps shook her head. "Button's just a nickname. Spotweld's idea. Apparently she's cute as a button, and it stuck." She managed a half-shrug, amusedly. "Her real name is Footloose – or Lucy, depending on who you talk to. Will you just _sit still_, you little pest?"

Footloose had already squirmed her way out of Forceps' big hands and wormed her way up under her chin again. Her wriggling had admittedly calmed a little, but only because she'd succeeded in jamming herself so tightly against the surgeon's armour she was all but melded against her. "I be still," she agreed, still clicking a happy little harmonic.

"All right, Forceps." Ratchet flipped open a diagnostic tool. "We best get a look at what sort of damage you've sustained, then I can start seeing about getting it fixed. With your permission, of course?"

She pulled a face. "Yeah. Let's get it over and done with…"

0o0o0o0o0

"Hey, Sides? Look. She's so bashed up it took a while to click, but I _thought_ I recognised her…"

"What?" Sideswipe backtracked down the corridor to see his twin unpinning something from the noticeboard in the main hallway, outside the recreation room. "Now this has _gotta_ be urgent if you're actually delaying the trip to the washracks for it."

Silently, Sunstreaker held out what he'd taken down; a photograph. A well-handled, well-loved, very creased and scuffed photograph, but still good enough to make things out on. The femme in question was rather squashed up the end, but that wasn't what Sunstreaker was pointing at; rather, it was the fact that at the _other_ end of the photograph were three very familiar sets of wings, and the owner of the red set had his feet stretched out over the femme's lap.

Sideswipe took it from his brother's fingers, and his face crimped up in dismay. "Aw, slag. You think she's here 'cause they called her over?"

"I dunno," Sunstreaker folded his arms. "I think we ought to keep a veery close optic on her, regardless."

0o0o0o0o0

"So… it's just 'Auntie', is it?" Ratchet challenged, suspiciously, hooking the pickups on his diagnostic's analytical mainframe over the raw wires visible under the blackened outer seam on the big female's right thigh. "Not, um… Ama? Button-… ah, Footloose… has rather been obsessing over finding her."

Forceps offered him one of her rare sarcastic grins. "_Me,_ Lucy's dam? Primus, no. As Spots is so fond of telling me, I have all the maternal instinct of a sack of old wrenches."

Having already watched Footloose clamber unrestricted all over the big green surgeon, it was hard to consider her having _no_ maternal urges. Anyone else would have lost patience and bounced the hyperactive sparkling straight back onto someone with a greater desire to look after them.

"To be honest," the surgeon went on, softly, examining the scuffed back of her fingers, "I'd not been hugely fond of sparklings at all, until these two arrived. Brought back too many bad memories."

"Um… two?" Ratchet paused rummaging in the cupboard, and glanced anxiously back over his shoulder.

Forceps looked up, at last, dislodging Footloose from her perch on her shoulders; the sparkling _erp!_-ed and there was the muted _thump_ as she hit the padded deck. "Footloose, and Slipstream," she explained, carefully. "I know Slipstream isn't here, but… no-one told you he existed?"

"Seem los', Aunnie Ausep," Footloose explained, grunting and clambering her way back up to her friend's lap. "Is with Dacker, but is los' in Chewneesia." She put a finger to her lips. "Jas help me look for with Tel'tran. Is secret!"

"So secret you feel obliged to tell everyone? I hope Ratchet's in on it already!"

"Well, I'm party to most of the secrets in this place, I figure one more little one won't make much difference. I know there's been a fairly impressive hiccup in the Decepticon hierarchy, and Jazz made sure I was sworn to secrecy at the start," the medic agreed, with a long-suffering grin, holding out a cup to Footloose. "And _you_ still haven't had your breakfast, trouble."

Energon; the easy way to a sparkling's heart. Footloose accepted the mug with her usual wide-optic'ed _is-that-for-ME?_ look. By now, she'd calmed enough to just sit patiently in Forceps' lap, wiggling her own feet and distractedly attempting to refuel, although a lot of her energon was getting sloshed anywhere _but_ into her intakes. There was just too much going on around her for her attention to exclusively be on her two-handled mug.

"So what do you know of what's happened, Forceps?" Ratchet coaxed, moving about and taking distracted readings of resistivities and electron flow. "We're still trying to work off a sparkling's account of things, it'd be nice to have things a bit clearer."

"Not a lot, to be honest. I know two out of three have been shot down," Forceps confirmed, quietly. "But Vantage couldn't tell me exactly _where_." She gave him a probing look. "I was hoping the fact you found Footloose meant you'd found her guardian, as well."

"She sprang from a scrap pile all on her own, so far as I can tell," Ratchet explained, grimly. "No guardian, and no idea where he is."

"Ahh, well… that's not _entirely _true," a new voice explained, and they looked up to see Jazz in the doorway, rubbing the back of his head. "Is it, Button?"

"Me and Jas find Sta'zim on Tel'tran," the sparkling confirmed, earnestly. "Check still hid, still safe."

"So… you're telling me…" Forceps said, slowly, "that not only do you know where he is, right down to the very second of latitude and longitude… you've even _seen_ him?" Her features hardened. "And… did nothing?"

"…uhh, well… yeah, kinda."

The big femme drew herself up straight, and her optics flickered dangerously. "You just _left_ him out there? To the less-than-tender mercy of Primus-knows-what weather this mud-ball might fling at him?!"

Footloose squeaked and burrowed closer, splashing energon; Ratchet skilfully intercepted the cup and prised it carefully from the small hand before its contents could end up all over the floor. "Is secret, Ausep, is secret!" she insisted, urgently, flattening a tiny palm over Forceps' mouth. "Not talk of! Here is Autobots! Will fight, be cross. Not want fight when hurt!"

"I did offer to go get him," Jazz admitted. "Buut… we reasoned that bringing him here against his will would only cause a ruckus, and he certainly wouldn't _thank _us for it. We're keeping an eye on him, anyway, and, well… y'know, he looks okay… I figured we ought to wait until we've got more of an idea what's happening on the grander scale before we go carrying out any programs of Seeker rescue."

"So you're quite happy to leave him out there to die, in the interim? What's wrong with your _brig_, for Primus sake?!" The surgeon had swung her feet off the berth and attempted frustratedly to stand on limbs that were nowhere near capable of supporting her weight before anyone realised what was going on, and Ratchet only just caught her before she went flat on her face. "Damn these stupid legs-" she cursed, quietly, subsiding to the deck.

"Well, it's a good job your body is rebelling against you, because I'd only be forced to have Prowl put you in the brig," Ratchet scolded, trying to help her back to her unsteady feet.

"You can arrest me _after_ I've fetched him in," she snapped back. "He doesn't deserve to be left out there to rust."

"That's a matter of opinion," Jazz quipped, slipping himself under her other arm and helping Ratchet get her back onto the berth.

"I'll have you know-"

"All right, all right, just-… everyone-… shut up, already!" Ratchet waved his hands for silence, irritably. "First of all? Jazz? I think I'm going to need you to take Button away and keep her amused while I'm working. And as for you, Sepp? You're not going _anywhere _until I get you walking again. Blind, stubborn determination won't get you very far, and I'm damned if I'm going to let you _crawl_ all the way there. And no arguing! I'll get it done as quickly as possible because I know doctors make the worst patients, and I don't want you cooped up in here, telling me how to do my job, any longer than you have to be." His voice softened, marginally, and he held out a cupful of some sort of clear fluid. "A quick gamma workup should show all the little faults from your first meeting with the dirt. Once you're back on your feet, I figure we could, ah…" He winced. "Maybe see about having a word with Optimus about going to fetch the Screaming One out of the mud."

Forceps actually backed down, for once, and knocked back the clear liquid in a single swallow. "It's your operating room, doctor," she agreed, softly. "I'll abide by your decisions, even if I don't much _like_ them."

Ratchet chuckled, dryly. "If only everyone espoused the same opinion, my life would be a whole lot easier," he growled. "All right, get yourself settled. Lucy?" He glanced down at the end of the berth, where Footloose still sat, investigating her aunt's feet; she looked up, obediently. "Down you hop. I need to get a little look at the damaged bits under Forceps' armour, and that means you need to be out of the way."

"I come see what happen?" Footloose asked, wobbling on tiptoes and trying to get a look at the giant gamma-camera's control panel.

Ratchet glanced over to his patient, who just shrugged, sleepily, already succumbing to the sedatives. "Not right now, little one," he decided. "I need to concentrate. You go talk to Jazz for a little while."

"'Kay," Footloose huffed, sulkily, but went away as told, slotting her tiny hand into Jazz's. "We go look Tel'tran, Jas…?"

Ratchet waited until their voices had faded away down the corridor before getting to work. He wanted to be able to concentrate on this, without troublemaking little sparkling fingers altering settings on the control panel. At least it wasn't _malicious_ curiosity, he reasoned, watching the figures scroll up the screen. Just… wait, what was that?

_Hmm. That was odd. _

Ratchet gave the sedated femme a concerned look; her spark had a good strong harmonic, but there was an odd disharmony. Very, very faint, but definitely there. Didn't look like _new_ damage – certainly not from the landslide, it'd take a jolt harder than _that_ to destabilise a spark… But what it actually _was_, he found himself stumped on. Something the Decepticons had done? Could that be the origin of this odd… affinity she seemed to have with the faction? Odd that they'd shot her, but how better to sneak into Autobot headquarters unseen? _Have to get to the bottom of this_, he decided, grimly, cross-referencing the disharmony against a series of old _Medica Cybertronia _charts he'd originally kept for posterity's sake.

He read it a dozen times before allowing himself to believe it. _Fission scar_. The dedicatedly 'un-maternal' female had borne a sparkling?

A nasty thought hit him. What if Footloose _was_ the surgeon's, after all? The two femmes got on excellently, the little troublemaker actually doing what she was told for a change, and listening intently while Forceps explained things. Her little brain was a sponge, soaking up new inputs, which he really couldn't reconcile easily with something Skywarp had had a hand in creating.

What if the three fliers had used their history with the surgeon to 'liberate' the little one, stolen her away – a gift for Megatron, to ingratiate their way back into his good books? And something had gone wrong, they'd lost her, which was why they'd all been so comprehensively slagged? And Forceps was here to get her _back_? It sounded a whole lot more likely than that load of old nonsense Jazz had trotted out. He sagged behind his desk, letting the scanner carry on the pre-programmed set of tests, and rested his head tiredly into his hands.

"You're looking troubled, Ratch," Jazz commented, when he returned some breems later, watching out of the periphery of his vision as Footloose went to say hello to the Oolies.

Ratchet had moved from behind his desk to examine the rest of the scan results, but hadn't changed his expression. "I have been a very bad doctor, and done more than my patient gave her permission for," he admitted, tiredly. "And now I wish I hadn't. It's thrown up questions that I'm not sure how to ask."

"Want me to ask?"

Ratchet gave him a look. "Okay, so instead of me just being a bad doctor and overstepping boundaries I've agreed with my patient, you want me to be a _terrible_ doctor and breach patient confidentiality as well?" he challenged, dryly.

Jazz grinned. "Wouldn't be the first time," he reminded, cheekily, and ducked out of the way of a swat from a strong red hand.


	10. Chapter 9

**Warped - Chapter Nine**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** Sorry this one took a while to get to. Would have been up earlier but my non-work life is kicking my aft. :P More silliness linked to in my profile. :)

* * *

Forceps was juust beginning to return to normal cognitive function when Jazz finally finished discussing options with Ratchet.

"Yo, Sepp." Jazz span the stool around and straddled it, leaning his arms against the backrest. "Feeling up to a little gentle interrogation yet?"

Forceps narrowed her muggy optics at him, guardedly. "Regarding what?" She looked to still be a little sedated, but Jazz figured that was probably good, from an interrogation point of view.

Silently, Jazz pointed a finger at Footloose, who was still away on the sideboard, trying to get the fish to glitter at her.

"…what about her?" Guardedness turned into open distrust.

"Okay, I'll be as succinct as possible. We just want to be absolutely sure of her, ah… parentage."

Forceps treated him to a very long, very suspicious look. "I think you _know_ whose she is," she suggested, evasively, shifting her gaze to check for security cameras. "Are you trying to catch me out, Jazz? Because that's quite an underhand thing to do, if you are."

"No, no, nothing of the sort. What I was _meaning _was… well, she's, ah… definitely not _yours_, right?"

"I believe we've gone over this ground already." The big femme folded her arms across her chest, suspiciously, and let her gaze drift sideways to Ratchet, who was wearing an expression of studied ignorance and trying to pretend he wasn't listening. "What's he been telling you?"

"To be honest? Nothing," Jazz confirmed. "Well, maybe dropped a couple of hints when I asked, but that's it."

"He shouldn't be saying _anything_, because it's not his business," she snapped, hotly, instinctually knowing what he meant now, retreating back under her mask of irritation.

"Whoa, steady on, we're just worried about you. The disharmony flagged up in one of the routine healthchecks he was running, and I asked him what it was," Jazz soothed, holding up his hands in a surrendering gesture, hoping she wouldn't pick up on the way he edited the truth a fraction. "He didn't approach me with it, I stuck my nose in."

"And why should it worry you?" she challenged. "What _exactly_ do you suspect me of hiding?"

Jazz held her gaze for a moment or two without speaking. "We wanted to be sure you're not just here to get your little ones back," he said, earnestly. "Because if they'd been snatched by any, ah, 'former allies', and you need sanctuary, someplace safe to hide yourself and them for a while? You know we'd be happy to help."

She matched his gaze for, a while. "Well, you're right in that I _am_ here to fetch the sparklings home," she admitted, reluctantly. "But not for the reason you're suggesting, and certainly not because they'd been stolen. Those 'former allies' were trying to drop them off at the space bridge, if you must know. When they didn't turn up, I came through to see what was wrong."

"…and that's all it is?"

For a second or two, Forceps just stared at him. "Why would I _lie_ about something like _that_?" she managed, at last.

"We-ell, for all we know, you might have got some strange idea in your processors like a need to protect the kidnappers! Because I _know _you're kinda enamoured with a certain owner of a pair of red wings…"

"I consider him a friend, yes!" She cast her gaze skywards, exasperated. "But not to such a degree that I'd go so far as to bear a sparkling with him!"

Jazz smiled and shrugged apologetically. "Stranger things have happened. Senior Decepticons and low-ranking Autobot police officers aren't known for their intrinsic compatibility either, you know," he reminded, gently.

She sighed, tersely, and grumbled her vents. "While I accept that is a fair point, does she _really _look like she's part-me, part-Starscream?" she scolded, quietly. "Come on, she'd be a noisy, bossy grump, and act a whole lot older than she is!"

"Well, to be honest, she doesn't look much like the product of Skywarp's loins either, you know? She's not an aggressive, impulsive little fighter who leaps in feet-first and thinks about things once it's too late to do anything about it."

"You've obviously never had to extract her from the furniture when she's teleported without watching where she's going."

Jazz gave her a curious look. "Voice of experience?"

"You have _no_ idea…"

There was a low _slup_ sound and Footloose emerged from the ether somewhere above their heads; apparently used to having sparklings dropping on her from great heights, Forceps automatically put her hands up and caught the incoming youngster, who squeaked indignantly at having been caught out.

"And I suppose _you_ like it on this mud-ball world, you little troublemaker," Forceps growled, relieved at the convenient change of subject, while Footloose wriggled herself comfortable in her lap.

"Mud ball," the sparkling agreed, and wrinkled her tiny nose in disgust. "Make dirty, then Jas make to have bath. _Nasty_!"

"What child _does _like having a bath? Seems pretty traditional here," Jazz observed.

Footloose giggled, and used her fingertip to draw in the dust on her aunt's pale chassis. "Need to make bath also, Aunnie Ausep," she said.

"It has a 'tuh' sound in it, remember, Lucy?" Forceps reminded.

"Yes Aunnie Ausep_**t**_," Footloose agreed, emphasising a click at the end of the surgeon's name.

The big femme _tch_-ed and cuffed her gently around the audios. "What's the verdict, then, doctor?" She directed her attention up at the approaching Ratchet. "And I mean about my legs, nothing else."

"I wanted a closer look first of all," the medic demurred, ignoring the challenging tone of voice and setting his databoard to one side. "I know where the damage _is_, just not how easy it will be to replace."

"So long as that's _all_ you look at," she warned, darkly, catching Footloose's arm before the sparkling could leap onto him.

Ratchet just smiled, dryly, and helped the sparkling to the floor, only half-listening to her demands to help out. "Only your legs," he promised. "I don't want anything else you're going to go silent over to worry about!"

0o0o0o0o0

Skywarp's search wasn't going so well. He'd been following a good logical grid pattern (for a change), and was slowly combing his way across Starscream's flightpath, but hadn't as yet found so much as a tiny chip of red armour. His continual low-level greeting signal on their private communications band hadn't picked up a response, either, which was what was particularly worrying. Even if Screamer was dormant, recharging, his automatic basal systems should respond to the ping, which suggested he was _completely_ offline.

There was nothing to say, of course, that the Squishies hadn't found him. And damn, that would be seriously the worst situation possible, even worse than the Autobots picking him up – for them to have Screamer _and_ probably Footloose as well, _and_ all that technology, and…

_They haven't got him_, he reassured himself. _I'd know, because they'd gloat about it… wouldn't they? They'd put it on their news, or something. Triumphant Squishies in their success against the evil Decepticon invaders, or some silly old rubbish like that. …um, maybe I better check "Area 51" anyway..._

Of course, things would have been far _far_ easier if Hook hadn't given him that stupid warning, which he'd very much taken to heart – _no transforming unless you want your wing to fall off!_ Carrying out his search untransformed meant there was no disguising his outline, no hiding what he was – he was quite obviously a Decepticon (or was he even one of _them_ any more?), to any human or Autobot who cared to look. The only way to hide his outline was to hunt by night, but that meant he had to fly low, and his visual acuity was greatly reduced. Flying by day was better for just plain _seeing_ stuff, but he'd discovered it meant the Squishies shot at him a lot more. He could have transformed and _stayed_ transformed, he figured – a small dark aeroplane shape way up in the sky was a lot less conspicuous – but that wouldn't have helped him fuel up. Could hardly hide out on a Squishy airfield and hope they failed to recognise him to enough of a degree to refuel him – not with _t__his _familiar paintjob, and all those Deception sigils for all to see. And what if his wing _had_ spontaneously detached? Wasn't like he could go beg some human mechanic to weld the damn thing back on!

And lastly, as if to outdo all the other little bits of hurt, his chest was already feeling painful, tarry and tight all through his abused pumps. This horrible automobile petroleum he was trying to get by on was really doing a number on his fuel-handling system. What in Primus did they put _in_ the stuff, anyway? Going to have to find an alternative fuel source. Maybe aviation fuel _would_ be better? There was a small airbase near here; he didn't have to try and blend in, if he was quick enough he could be in, refuel and out before they could bring out the surface-to-air missiles. Wouldn't clean the gunk _off_ his turbines, but it'd hopefully stop it building up quite so fast.

The air was sharp with the feel of moisture against his derma; casting his gaze in the direction of the breeze, he could just make out the clouds moving in, blotting out the stars. Typical. Rain. The one type of weather he wanted to avoid… Oh well. He was getting low on fuel anyway, and it wasn't like he could _see_ anything.

Up ahead was as good a place to put down for the night as any; moonlight picked out a rickety old shed with a few rickety old power lines to light the solitary sullen white lightbulb, and a rough gravel parking lot on which was parked a solitary car with two Squishy passengers. He wrinkled his nose – the pair were smooching, looked like. That, or one was a zombie, trying to eat the other's face. Well, so long as they kept out of his vents, he'd keep out of theirs. That was fair, right?

Skywarp glided down with an unnatural lack of grace, and landed square on both thrusters with a _whump _hard enough to make the ground shake, startling the two squishies into a hasty, squealing retreat.

He ignored them, and the way their vehicle peeled away out of the parking lot, scattering gravel like grapeshot against his legs. So they might report him, big deal. Who'd believe a story about a solitary Decepticon coming to just sit on an empty hillside and stare gloomily out over the city, not attacking anyone, not stealing anything? He parked his aft heavily on the grassy margin to the lot, and vented hot, dusty exhaust, sighing.

"This is stupid," he groaned, rubbing his temples, staring out over the twinkling lights of the city below and watching as the curtain of rain slowly pulled across them. "There's got to be an easier way of doing this."

_Yeah,_ his cynical subconscious agreed. _Go plead your case to the Autodorks, I bet they'd love to take you in – they just looove lost causes like you, you big blob of __stupid__. Give 'em their chance to be all magnanimous and noble to their fallen enemy. Great idea. _

He sat out on his silent hillside with his knees tucked up and his chin propped in his hands until the rain caught up with him. It pinged down against his chassis and sizzled quietly over the exposed circuitry in his right wing, reminding him he probably ought to go and take shelter.

_…i__f said 'shelter' doesn't collapse on me_, he mused, grimly, standing before the shed and giving it a critical look. The rickety old building was open on three sides, and full of badly-stacked logs – one good _shove_ and they all tumbled away to one side, conveniently also blocking the road.

He settled himself on the dry ground beneath the worn old roof, and subconsciously crossed his fingers that it'd hold up. The lightbulb above his head was a convenient little added bonus – or rather, the two long cables powering it were. He tugged them down, roughly, stripped them to bare wires, and – with no small degree of difficulty and a lot of swearing – managed to tuck the frayed ends into his charging hookups.

The current was low, and fairly weak, but it was clean and felt like balsam to his tattered emotions. He sagged back against the rickety rear wall, and listened as it _creaked_ but miraculously held up under his bulk, then sighed exhausted, sooty air from his vents, and slowly drifted into dormancy with the rain beating a frustrated tattoo against the old roof.

0o0o0o0o0

Back at the _Ark, _'helping' Ratchet had the desired result of tiring Footloose out. She had finally calmed enough to sink into an exhausted torpor against Forceps' chest, fingers back in her little mouth, curled up. The surgeon looked equally torpid, maintaining a dopey consciousness solely to keep the sparkling from sliding to the floor.

"Here, let me take her," Jazz offered, and gently prised the tiny shape away from the big green female. "You need to offline a bit, yourself."

"Yes doctor," she replied, sleepily, and he had to look harder to check if she was being sarcastic, or was just that close to entering unconsciousness to mistake him for Ratchet. (He decided on sarcastic.) "I didn't think this would be how my introduction to this mud-ball world would end up going," she confessed, drowsily, watching as Jazz settled Footloose into the smaller portable berth alongside and made sure all the connections to the charging grid were patent. "I had hoped it would be among friends, not shot in the back."

"I guess that's just what you have to prepare yourself for, when you associate with Decepticons," Jazz replied, not entirely sure why he felt obliged to half-apologise for them. "How long d'you suppose before you're back on your feet?"

"A few orns, according to your medic," she confirmed, tiredly. "I'm not sure if he's being genuine, or doing it on purpose to keep me from chasing after injured jets."

"Knowing Ratch, probably a little of both." Jazz gave her a rueful grin, and hopped lightly to the berth opposite, settling with legs crossed and hands in his lap. "Listen, Sepp? About earlier? Sticking out noses into your private affairs wasn't something we'd had any major plans to do," he apologised, quietly. "We were just worried. I mean, if things carry on the way they have been, we're going to have bigger problems to concern ourselves with, and, ah… well, we really don't want any more surprises. It's gonna be hard enough to explain whose she is as it is _now_, imagine trying to explain she's the Screamer's."

Forceps wrinkled her nose in a sarcastic little smile. "I'm more amused by the concept that you think hiding Lucy's parentage from your fellow Autobots will help _prevent_ surprises," she accused, dryly.

"Egh, well, fair point," Jazz admitted, echoing her cynical grin. "Truth be told, there'll probably be a full-scale riot when certain folk find out. _But_," he waved a finger. "We hope we've got a contingency plan in place by then."

"What like?"

"Um, well, not sure. But we'll think of something!"

"You mean you'll cook something up on the fly."

"Like I said, we'll think of something!"

0o0o0o0o0

It hadn't taken long for Thundercracker to notice that his broken-up cellmate seemed to spend a large proportion of her time looking floppy and dormant. The rest of her waking hours she spent seesawing dramatically between mostly lucid and functioning normally, and so drugged-up she could barely tell which way was "up" and certainly wasn't very aware of what anyone was doing. There was very little pattern to it – it didn't always coincide with a visit from Siphon, certainly. Apparently the various combinations of sedatives he used on her lingered in her system for varying periods of time, but only actually kicked in when they left her reserve tanks. She could go from sitting, talking normally into an uncoordinated, confused heap in the time it took to finish a sentence.

It was a discovery that made him particularly anxious – if such a disabled, harmless example of a machine was considered dangerous enough for Siphon to feel the need to maintain her in this barely-conscious state, how long before someone like him, with the actual capacity to do some damage, had to endure the same treatment?

By contrast, little Slipstream had _mostly_ avoided Siphon's attention altogether. It seemed like the tanker had been completely thrown by the arrival of the youngster, and still didn't really know what to do about him just yet, so was concentrating on those he already had plans for – and Thundercracker figured that the longer they could maintain the current status quo, the better.

All three were fully awake, for a change, when Deuce appeared in the corridor with more of that murky brown so-called energon, the next morning. Slipstream was already close to the doorway, having been quietly watching the shifting lights on the computer opposite the cell, but he didn't move from his spot in the sand at seeing the newcomer. He simple sat and watched Deuce release the field and edge through the gap, then followed him across the sandy floor and settled in an oddly protective position in front of his dam, all the while maintaining that silent eye-contact. The truck shifted uneasily under the intense, curious lilac stare, and kept his gaze averted.

With a little effort, Thundercracker managed to ignore his amusement at the way their warder even seemed scared of the sparkling, and gave Deuce a wary glower as he carefully placed the cube down by his thrusters. "You can't find anything that's a little better quality?" he challenged, softly. "The little one can barely keep this purge-fluid down."

Deuce resolutely avoided meeting his gaze, attempting to put his delivery down without getting _too_ close to the Seeker. "This is all there is."

"So what do _you_ use?"

Deuce wrinkled his lip. "For your information," he retorted, shakily, his optics flickering very briefly up to meet the hostile crimson gaze, before he lost his nerve. "I get the same murky brown rubbish."

"So his one loyalist isn't worth keeping in fair operational capacity with good quality fuel?" Thundercracker folded his arms, suspiciously. "You'll forgive me if I reserve judgement on how far I believe you."

"Huh. All I'm _worth _is a good kicking around, apparently. Certainly not worth good energon. Siphon keeps all that to himself, the greedy pile of old smeltings." Deuce sounded like he was making an effort to sound resentful, but the frightened quaver in his voice destroyed the illusion. He flexed his hand, and worried uneasily at his palms. "Just… believe what you like, Decepticon. Makes no odds to me."

"So the one he gets to do all his dirty work gets fuel so poor it barely keeps him on his feet?" Thundercracker accused, his voice low, and slouched forwards to snag the cubes. "Like I say. I'll reserve judgement."

Time oozed slowly past, but Deuce still failed to leave.

"Was there anything else?" Thundercracker gave him a dark look.

"Listen," Deuce dropped his voice and glanced back over his shoulder, anxiously. "If anyone asks, you didn't hear this from me, but-…" He managed to meet the Seeker's hostile stare and not look away, for once. "I made the final payment to that human today, and he's not happy with the money Siphon gave him for catching you. He thinks he deserves more, for grabbing the little one."

"And you think this is relevant to me because…?"

"I overheard them talking about you. They think Siphon should sell you, so they can have the proceeds." The navy-blue mech shifted, uneasily, as if scared of being eavesdropped on by his 'employer'. "They were already planning on how best to lean on him, blackmail him into agreement."

Thundercracker arched an eyeridge, and looked unimpressed. "Your efforts to scare me into obedience are going to have to be a bit better than _that_, Blue. Siphon has already explained his plans for me, he won't kill me off just yet."

Deuce grumbled wordlessly at the insult. "I'm not trying to scare you," he griped, darkly. "Just warning you that if you were planning on sitting on your aft and hoping for a rescue? The 'rescue' might come too late." He picked up the empty cube from the previous evening's rations, and waved it, for emphasis. "The human's got your guns up for sale already, if he gets a good enough price for them he might just come begging for more body parts. It might serve Siphon's purposes better if you _were_ just a head and torso."

_That_ rankled Thundercracker's mood. He was up on his feet and advancing before Deuce realised he'd moved, and the truck shied away from him, scuttled away backwards on three limbs, one arm up to protect his face.

"Are you forgetting who you're talking to?" the blue Seeker's deep voice rolled out like a clap of his signature thunder, and he seemed to loom even larger than normal. "You may have me at the disadvantage, cooped up in here like some prize animal, but you can be sure I'm not going to just sit back and let you spout off these baseless threats."

"Fine, don't believe me, then," Deuce whined, cowering, both arms up and crossed over the top of his head. "I only wanted to make you see that you need to concentrate on just getting out of here. Not fighting Tubes, not trying to see what he's up to, just getting _out_! I've got enough criminal charges against me already, I don't want to be an accessory to anything else." His voice shook a fraction higher, and his optics briefly flashed a bright, emotional pale green before dimming back to their usual half-lit emerald. "I want you to get the frag out of my life, and stay out of it!" he whispered, shaking, inching his way along the wall until his transponder pinged the security gate and automatically released the field. "How you choose to have him kill you is entirely up to you. I just don't want it happening anywhere I have to look at it!"

With that, he was gone; Thundercracker listened until the sound of running footsteps had faded to nothing down the corridor.

"He _has_ been trying to help," Pulsar rasped, softly, as the jet settled back down in their little cluster in the far corner of the room, and examined the cubes.

"_You're_ beginning to worry me, a little," he confessed, quietly, not bothering to meet her lopsided stare. "It's not normally a good thing when the captive begins to side with the captor."

She huffed a feeble laugh. "Now that's a gross exaggeration. I just-… well, sort of… feel sorry for him," she admitted.

Thundercracker gave her a quizzical look, at last, but she wouldn't be drawn. Well, it wasn't as if he'd have no time to question her further later. "Okay, Pulse," he shuffled a fraction closer. "You even going to be okay taking fuel this way, any more, or has he smashed your pumps up too badly in there?"

She eyed the cube anxiously. "I think I'll be all right," she confirmed, faintly, although truth be told she wasn't _that_ sure… just didn't want Siphon sat on her again. "I, uh…" Her optics flickered brighter, humbly. "Probably need your help with it, though. Until I get used to doing it one handed."

"Fair enough," he agreed, with a nod; her hand was too small to wrap _around _the sides of the cube, and would have to cup underneath it instead, which would take dexterity she lacked, right now. "I figure I better check it's okay, first of all."

"I wouldn't put it past Siphon to use you to poison me, either," she agreed, hunching her shoulders. "It's the sort of twisted thing he'd do."

Thundercracker ran the smallest possible sample of fuel across the analytical plates on the inner surface of his main intake, and nodded, slowly. "Okay. Seems clean," he confirmed, reluctantly – which only made him more uneasy. It was as if they were trying to lull them into a false sense of security. It was that same poor-quality brownish stuff he'd had the last time, and he guessed that all kinds of toxins could be lurking in it and they wouldn't know until it was too late. "Ready?"

So the cube wasn't very good quality, it was _infinitely _better than the rubbish Siphon had been feeding her. Pulsar tightened her fingers on Thundercracker's wrist and gulped down close to quarter of it before Thundercracker gathered his wits enough to stop her.

"Whoa, whoa, easy. _Little _mouthfuls." He hastily drew his hand away, moving the cube back. "You go bolting that whole cube at once and you'll overload your system. It'll have adapted to running on low fuel by now – trust me, after some of the rubbish we've had to live off on _Nemesis,_ this is experience talking. I don't want you purging it all back at me because your diagnostics think you've overfilled."

"_Please_, TC, I need-" she whined, pulling on his hand, but he drew further back.

"_Sips_," he interrupted, firmly. "And you're not gonna have the whole thing right now either. Not having you making yourself even sicker. Understand me?"

She fidgeted, and whined unhappily, almost involuntarily, fingers remaining tensed on his wrist, but let him stay in charge of the situation. It was a strange luxury just to be able to intake fuel like normal, without Siphon's pipes all the way down her intakes.

He let her have one or two small mouthfuls before deciding she was done; granted, so he wasn't a doctor, but he figured that scrawny chassis didn't have very big reserve tanks in it.

Slipstream had sat watching patiently the entire time, and now patted Thundercracker's arm to get his attention. "I need to have?" he wondered, reluctantly. "Nasty energon."

"A little, yes," the jet confirmed. "You need to keep your strength up to look after Ama. Right, Ama?"

Pulsar forced a sad smile. "That's right," she husked. What a sorry state of affairs to be in. Her sparkling – barely a couple of hundred orns old – pushed into a situation where _he_ had to look after _her_. Some parent she was turning out to be!

Slipstream hummed dubiously, but sat obediently and let Thundercracker lift the big cube for him. "Yuck," he commented, staring down into the brown murk, but was prepared for the volatile 'taste' and didn't choke it down the wrong intake this time.

"So. What about Deuce?" Thundercracker suggested, quietly, not looking up.

"What about him?" Pulsar wondered, settling more comfortably against the wall.

"Did you hear what he said to me earlier?"

"A little of it. I know he upset your pride by implying you were worth more as scrap iron."

The Decepticon wrinkled his lip in a sour grin_. _"So… how far do you think we can believe him?" he pushed.

The gravity bike was quiet for a long time, thinking. "I believe him in that he doesn't want to be here," she said, at last. "I think he realised it was a mistake as soon as Siphon enticed him away from the hospital, but didn't realise how much of an error until he saw how much of a sociopath his liberator had become."

"Do you think he genuinely want us out of here?" Thundercracker gave her a cautious look. "Because I'm finding it hard to reconcile with the Deuce I knew of, back on Cybertron."

"I think," she said, measuredly, after another of those long, thoughtful pauses, "that you'll soon recognise that Deuce is as much a prisoner here as we are, like I did. No bars, perhaps, but trapped all the same. He can't just _leave_ because he has nowhere to _go_, and Siphon controls his supplies of medication."

Thundercracker gave her a look. "Medication?" he echoed. "I hope you don't mean Blue." _If Siphon's found a way of replicating that…! Damn, the whole nightmare would just start over again._

Pulsar shook her head. "He's been clean almost as long as Skywarp and me, but all his other little disturbances rose back up to fill the gap the Blue left. Last time I asked Forceps about him – which was getting on for a hundred orns ago, admittedly – she told me he's still quite, um… psychologically unstable. Still can't function very well without virals to stabilise his mood, to keep his neuroses under control."

"And Siphon is using this to manipulate him?" Thundercracker guessed.

The broken Policebot nodded, grimly. "He's built up a whole library of ways to get people to do what he wants. That's one of his simplest tactics."

The Seeker just happened to glance up at the right time to see her shudder and make a face; he didn't feel inclined to ask what it was that she'd thought about. The longer he could remain in blissful ignorance, the better.

"I done," Slipstream added, in the lull in conversation. "That okay, Dacker?"

"Yeah, you're good," Thundercracker confirmed, patting the small head. The sparkling had managed what probably amounted to half a tankful, so he was in no danger of collapsing for a while. "We'll put these somewhere we won't trip on them, hey…?"

Pulsar studied her fingers, trying to watch without making it too obvious as Slipstream inched his way closer, then backed off again. It was an awkward sensation, knowing her own sparkling was too scared of what she looked like to want to come close enough to touch her. _Should have been more careful what you wished for,_ she chided, inwardly. Shouldn't have spent all those orns wishing they wouldn't climb all over her. Although part of her was actually _glad _he kept losing his nerve and backing off – having Siphon's hands regularly pawing over her had left her reticent to have much physical contact with other machines. As a consequence, another part of her was deeply ashamed of the sheer relief she felt that she didn't have to hold him, right now. He was too scared of looking at her, and she was too scared of touching him. How beautifully messed-up this had all got.

Slipstream settled on sitting with his back to the wall, next to her – where he could be close, but not have to look at her. Probably trying to imagine she was undamaged and normal-looking, she figured, sadly. He hummed her a quiet, soothing little harmonic, like he did when Footloose was in one of her funny moods, and she actually found a genuine smile from somewhere for him.

…Predictably, the peace didn't last. Siphon reappeared in the corridor just under a cycle later. "You. Seeker." He beckoned, with a quick little jerking flick of his spidery hand. "Here. Now."

Thundercracker approached with a predatory edge to his stride. "What do you want, Tubes?" he wondered, irritably, holding himself in just such a way that he _loomed _quite nicely over the tanker.

Siphon obviously didn't like having his position challenged. A ripple of numbness spread rapidly from the collar and down Thundercracker's main motor column, and the Seeker had to put his hands out to steady himself on the rough-hewn doorframe.

"Mind you remember who is in charge here," the smaller machine growled, threateningly. "Next time I'll put you _right _down on the floor."

Thundercracker managed to force a feral grin, and Siphon _hissed_ angrily at being laughed at.

"I didn't order you taken prisoner so I could admire your _physique_," he snapped, at last, making certain Thundercracker could see him looking at the ragged margin to his broken wing. "For now, you're here to be a _surrogate_."

"A surrogate what?" Thundercracker challenged, managing to keep from rising to the bait.

"Not something you need concern yourself with. Now get a move on, I need to get you measured up…"

0o0o0o0o0

The days passed, and the status quo remained much the same for the various parties of machines across the globe. Siphon taunted uselessly, and his prisoners grew slowly more anxious about his ultimate plans. Forceps proved herself to be a terrible patient, as she had said she'd be, trying to get Ratchet to let her do some of the work on herself. Footloose kept up her quiet vigil, using Sky Spy's old recorded footage to track Thundercracker across the desert, although most of the _Ark_'s residents assumed her to be trying to learn about the world, not methodically looking for one of their oldest enemies. And Skywarp kept up his own search, scouring his way all along Starscream's flightpath, right the way across the United States, and slowly back again…

"So, um. Anyone know what in Primus' name he's actually _doing_?"

The teleport's activity hadn't gone unnoticed. It took several days of tracking, chasing human reports of very-disorganised and near-incomprehensible Decepticon activity, but Sky Spy finally found the errant Seeker, coming in for… well, what? Was it supposed to be an attack? …on a remote air force base. He glided down like a giant, malevolent crow in the darkening evening light, humans scattering away from him, and yet there was something odd about his approach…

Ratchet had apparently spotted it, too. "Why isn't he shooting?" he wondered, although he had a somewhat _testing_ tone to his voice.

There were grumbles along the lines of _wasn't-that-a-GOOD-thing?_ from most of the others, but Optimus picked up on the medic's tone. "Sky Spy? Can you focus a little closer?" he instructed.

Obediently, the image of the dark Seeker on the screen enlarged, which threw up more oddities. Untransformed. Inelegant. Not even flying in a particularly even manner.

"Hm, thought as much. What a _mess_," Ratchet said, grimly. "Teletraan, would you hold that image for now?"

Skywarp froze mid-landing, his arms up, swinging his thrustered heels forwards to carry his weight. His wings were still mostly in the way to get a good look at the rest of him, but Ratchet was satisfied.

"Here, you see?" The medic leaned forwards, and used a crimson fingertip to outline what he could see on the screen. "Look there." He drew an invisible line down the side of the Seeker's bare arms. "No cannons. And if my hunch is correct, that silver line down the back of his right wing is a hasty repair."

"What exactly are you saying, here? You feel _sorry_ for the guy?" Sideswipe challenged, from the back of the small assembly of machines, and folded his arms. "I'd say it looks like karma finally got up and bit him on the aft."

There was a rumble of agreement from a handful of voices.

"I'm _saying_," Ratchet corrected, "that it looks like more than the usual internal power struggle. When has Megatron ever sent him out on a mission looking in _that_ poor a condition?"

"C'mon, Ratch, they're _always_ beating the bolts out of each other-" Sideswipe protested.

"That's as maybe! But they're also usually in good fighting condition when they head out on an offensive, not so… barely flight-capable."

"So, what? Megs finally got tired of him lousing all his plans up and kicked him out for good? That what you're saying?" Sideswipe wrinkled his nose, as if to say what he thought of _that_ idea. "I think it's just the usual Decepticon sneakery-"

The argument had begun to looked like it would have continued in a similar vein for considerably longer when Teletraan-1 provided a convenient interruption. "Warning, Optimus Prime!" The supercomputer replaced the still image with scenes of chaos. Flames guttered across the screen as aviation fuel blazed where it had spilled, and the three fighter aircraft that had previously been lined neatly up at the side of the screen had been smashed into a heap, as if a tornado had hit the place.

"Nice to see that even poor widdle hurted Seekers don't have to be armed to still succeed in raising the Pit wherever they go," Sideswipe sniped, and shot Ratchet a challenging look; the medic glared back, but otherwise didn't rise to the bait.

"Hm. There's something odd about this whole thing," Jazz mused, quietly.

"I'll say," Sideswipe agreed. "We haven't even _attempted_ to find the creep, and put him back in his place, yet."

Jazz gave him an abstract sort of smile. "That wasn't actually what I meant… Teletraan-1? You were still recording Sky Spy's output while we were looking at that still image, right? Could you re-run that last piece of footage, but without the pauses and magnifies and other alterations?"

"From when until when, Jazz?" the supercomputer asked, amiably.

"The beginning, when Ratchet asked for a pause. I want to see what was going on while we were talking."

Obediently, the previous still image on the screen flickered back, and into life. Skywarp landed heavily enough to throw sparks as his thrusters impacted the ground, and stomped about for a minute or so, waving his arms; judging by his expressions and his postures he was making as much noise as he could. The humans made a spirited attempt to repel him, but they'd been caught off guard and were either armed only with handguns, which wouldn't even dent the Seeker's armoured hide, or unarmed altogether. The big mech grabbed the tail of one of the inanimate jets and used it to smash the other two out of the way, before the humans could get into them and counter him, and at last the remaining few brave souls fled off-screen.

Once he was satisfied the humans were gone, Skywarp (unexpectedly) went straight for the little fuel tanker standing at the sidelines – didn't go after any of the weaponry, didn't go after any special new technology the humans might have got, he went for the tanker so fast it was like they'd both been magnetised. He clawed the filling cap off the top, shredding the vehicle's flimsy outer skin in his haste to remove it, and with a strength born of desperation scooped the little vehicle clean up off the tarmac and tipped it to get at the high-octane fuel it was half filled with. More fluid seemed to go down his front and onto the hard-standing than into his intakes, but that seemed an irrelevance.

Even Sideswipe actually frowned in vague concern at seeing the way the Seeker frantically drained the tanker; Sky Spy picked up almost every tiny hurt line on the pale upturned face.

"No energon converters, no Megatron, no other Decepticons," Jazz pointed out, quietly. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to excuse his behaviour… but wouldn't you say it looks like he's stealing fuel just to stay _standing_?"

"If it were left to _me_," Ratchet said, softly, "I'd say he looked like he was starving."

Nobody bothered to correct him.

The reason for the teleport's urgency became clear a moment or two later; the humans he'd worked so hard to scare off didn't stay gone for long. There was the glitter of gunfire at the margins of the image, and Skywarp first flinched back, dropping the tanker and bringing his arm up to protect his face, then lurched around so fast he almost tripped over his own feet, and fled. The raw heat from his turbines ignited the spilled fuel, and the tanker exploded into an inferno; it was just a good enough distraction for Skywarp to make good his escape. Sky Spy tracked him leaving, for a moment or two, until there was the telltale lilac flicker of his teleport signature, and the Seeker vanished like an inkblot into black fabric.

"All right," Optimus sighed. "Regardless of what has happened to him, we can't turn a blind eye to this, because eventually he'll kill someone – or worse. Silverbolt? Take your team and track him down, and see if you can't 'dissuade' him from the course of action he's been taking lately."

The Aerialbot commander nodded, just once. "When you say _dissuade_…?"

Optimus recognised that leading tone of voice. "With words, if you can get your team to listen to you when it comes to not shooting at Decepticons," he replied, dryly. "To start with, he's unarmed – for all five of you to engage him in a firefight would be particularly unfair."

"No more than he deserves," Sideswipe griped quietly, in the background. "That lot wouldn't hesitate to shoot _us_."

"Yes, Optimus." Silverbolt carefully ignored him. "Assuming we can find him, of course…"

Sideswipe hung fidgeting around the supercomputer's main console and watched everyone gradually file out, now the meeting was finally over. His brother had been griping at him all day, about having some disturbing new information about their guests that he wanted to try and research in more depth, and this was the soonest they'd managed to find time to meet up.

"Remind me what we're doing here, again?" Sideswipe challenged, when Sunstreaker finally emerged from the corridor.

"Going to look through some old records from before the war," the yellow twin explained, settling in the chair in front of Teletraan-1's main console. "I want to check something out."

Sideswipe stood and watched over his twin's shoulder. "I thought you said you'd found something out about the little one?"

"No, I said I'd found something out about our guest," Sunstreaker argued. "The green one we dug out of the mountain."

"The one with the unnatural allegiances." Sideswipe nodded, cottoning on. "What about her? We already know she fixed the Screaming One up, a while ago – you think she's a sympathiser to their faction?"

"I don't think she's just a _sympathiser_," Sunstreaker argued,. "I think she _is_ a Decepticon. Or at least was, at some point."

"But we'd _know_ if she was ever a Decepticreep, because she'd be on one of our lists of faction affiliation," Sideswipe pointed out, folding his arms.

"Eenh, p'raps." Sunstreaker didn't look convinced. "Teletraan, how far back do these records go?"

"What time interval were you enquiring after, Sunstreaker?" the computer wondered, already humming softly as it worked. "Pre or post war?"

"Pre-war," Sunstreaker confirmed, typing in the identifier numbers he'd swiped off Ratchet's desk when the medic wasn't watching. "And, I don't know, maybe until a vorn after the official start of things. I want all known political and personal alliances for _this_ machine." He stabbed a finger down onto the 'accept' key, and glanced up at Sideswipe. "Let's see exactly what she's hiding…"

0o0o0o0o0

The fact they might be looking for Day had put Footloose into a mood even more excitable than normal. She stayed awake a whole cycle longer than normal, unable to sit still in her little berth, and Ratchet was at the point of losing patience and sneaking some knockout drops into her energon when at last she quietened and managed to offline. She jittered her excited way through her usual morning routine the next day – slink away from her 'nursery' in the medical suite before even the Oolies had woken up and begun to scintillate their pretty colours in their morning greetings, and scramble her way up onto Tel'tran's console to check on Sta'zim. Still hid, still safe? Only once she'd ensured the red and silver was still there would she turn her attention back to Tunisia, and resume her search until everyone else woke up. It was only when Prowl finally came along to check the overnight reports that she'd vacate her seat on the console, and go say her good mornings to her friends and to see Septor's fish – and today, she could see if they'd found Day yet!

"Good morning, Footloose," Teletraan greeted, automatically, as she climbed up onto its control panel. "Would you like the same beginning co-ordinates as usual?"

"Please, Tel'tran," she agreed, sitting back onto her heels and waiting for the familiar image to come up…

0o0o0o0o0

Jazz was dozing in the rec-room, head propped on one elbow, when he got an unusual wakeup that startled him rudely out of recharge and left him momentarily disoriented.

"Jas, Jas!" Something was yanking busily on his free arm, as if it wanted to take his fingers clean off, and a sharp, thin little voice cut into his awareness like the blare of a fire alarm. "Ja-as!"

He managed to coax his optics to focus, and found an agitated sparkling dancing from foot to foot on the table and trying to get him to wake up. Her blinkers were on, pulsing a blue heartbeat over the walls; was that an involuntary reflex? He'd have to ask. Whatever it was, it was kinda _bright _for such poorly-calibrated early-morning optics! He put out his hands and gently cupped her lights with his palms, with a tired smile.

"Now now, Button, what's got _you _so worked up?" he soothed, as she leaned closer into his touch and covered his hands with her own far smaller ones.

"Gone, gone!" she mewed, unhappily, and he finally recognised the indefinable quality to her voice was fright. "Sta'zim gone, Jas! Looked with Tel'tran and not there any more. Been took, Suishies took, Meg'tron took-"

"All right, all right," he hummed gently to her, gathering her off the table and standing, with her clicking against his chassis. At least her lights had gone off. "We'll find him, okay? Just… calm down?"


	11. Chapter 10

**Warped - Chapter Ten**

**Disclaimer:** As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N: **Thank you all again for your encouraging comments. :) Although I'm going to have to ask that some of you people out there please return your crystal balls/mind-reading sets... :wags finger: ;)

Exie: I apologise (except that I don't really) ;)

There may be more typos than usual in this one, as I posted it at the end of my lunch break. :hmrs:

Edit: Oops, found one. :corrects it:

* * *

"Now, then," Jazz said, letting Footloose carefully down onto Teletraan's control console. "Let's have a look for him together, shall we? Are you sure you looked in the right place?" It was a stupid question, sure, she'd been looking in the exact same place every morning since she arrived, but it needed asking.

She sucked her fingers, and nodded. "Same place. Same triangulations," she confirmed, voice still full of static, pointing with her other hand. "See? Green plants and dirt."

These _were_ the right co-ordinates, as well. He wished he could be suspicious that Forceps had gone out to fetch him, but he could hear her voice in the background, apparently taking issue over something with Ratchet. Probably discussing one of the Seekers, again. The two medics got on relatively well, but only provided the conversation could be steered _away_ from certain polarising elements.

Which left only two feasible options. One was that one of his wingmates – most likely Skywarp – had found him and fetched him (although judging by how poor Skywarp had looked, it seemed unlikely), or alternatively – far less appetising an idea – or the humans had found him. He'd have to have a word with Optimus, see if any of their contacts had heard anything…

"Star dead, Jas?" Footloose wondered, looking back over her shoulder at him, lip wobbling. "Suishies find, make dead?"

"Nah, I bet one of his friends has found him," he reassured, but it didn't seem to make her happy. "Found him and took him back home."

"_Meg'tron _find and make dead?" she wondered, shrinking down on herself.

"Oh, I doubt that," he reassured, picking her up off the desk and setting her into his lap; she clung to his fingers as though they were a safety blanket. "We'd know if old Buckethead had been in the area. Now, let's have a think." He looked up at the screen and wondered, in a louder voice; "Teletraan-1, is a visual feed available for these co-ordinates for the past Terran orn?"

"Negative, Jazz," the computer answered, evenly. "A record of visual data was not requested for these co-ordinates."

"All right, errm… Do you have any records at all for the preceding orn?"

"Negative for this level of magnification."

"What _do_ you have?"

"A wider field of view is available, but minor details may not be discernible."

"Well, let's have it, then…"

As the computer had said, it _was_ a wider field of view, quite significantly so. What had once been good enough to make out individual leaves had become a view from far enough back that the trees themselves were only just discernible.

"Can't see," Footloose said, quietly. "Is made too big."

"Yeah," Jazz agreed, glumly. "I can't see anything there, either. Teletraan? Check for records in Sky Spy's memory stacks, please. I want to be certain we've checked everywhere before we start to think of alternatives."

Footloose whimpered softly as the images flickered up; all were either more distant, or the wrong location. "Is lost, is lost…" she said, curling up a little tighter around his fingers. "Dacker lost, now Star lost also!"

"Hey, hey." He gathered her against his chest, and listened as the soft chirruping noises of distress began to ease. "Don't be upset, Button. We're not beaten yet, we'll find them! We just need to look a little longer, all right?"

"Have looked long time for Dacker. Not find yet," she reminded, softly.

"But you're just one little sparkling, right? If I get some of the guys to help out, we'll find him…"

"Yo, Jazzman. Stop scaring the sparkling, already!" a loud voice teased, from behind, and the pair looked up to find a grinning Sideswipe in the doorway.

"Nah, that wasn't Jazz did that, she just saw Gears. The guy scares the bolts out of _me_, half the time," Sunstreaker corrected, idly, pushing past. "You done looking at trees with Teletraan-1, Jazz? I need to look something up."

Jazz vacated his seat, with an easy smile; he didn't feel like trying to explain to these two just _why _he and Footloose would like to keep looking at trees. "Yeah, I figure we're done for now. Right, Lucy?"

Footloose already had her fingers back in her mouth when she nodded.

"Before you go, Jazz, I wanted to ask you something." Sunstreaker stepped sidelongto intercept him.

"Ask away," Jazz invited; he still wore an amenable smile, but the illusion was spoiled by the way he was attempting to navigate his way around the yellow twin.

"There's something about that little one," Sunstreaker challenged, quietly, moving back into Jazz's way. "And I think you know what it is."

Jazz cocked his head, curiously; he could feel Footloose shrinking back against him, her little fingers tightening around his thumb, made anxious by the other mech's belligerent tone of voice. He patted her arm, reassuringly. "Well, nice though it is to hear you express such faith in my detective abilities," he replied, amusedly, "I'm not sure what you think I'm hiding."

"Well, see, I think _you_ know where she came from," Sunstreaker elaborated. "Or at least I think you suspect something." He lifted his chin a fraction. "Look. We all know there's something… _off_… about the little one. We know she's not from _here_, which means she's either a mini Decepticon, or she's come from Cybertron. And neither is particularly appealing."

"I told you where I found her," Jazz reminded, evenly. "She sprang from a scrap heap, all of her own."

"Please, Jazz. Sideswipe might like to _play_ the fool, but we're not idiots. Please don't treat us like them," Sunstreaker warned, softly, with Sideswipe stood nodding just behind him.

"Are the pair of you looking for nonexistent conspiracies again?" Jazz stared them down. _Crunch time._ "What do you want me to tell the two of you, huh? That one of her parents is Skywarp?"

Footloose's response was so beautifully on-cue, it was as if he'd coached her. The instant she heard Skywarp's name, she gave a strangled little noise of alarm and burrowed up against Jazz's shoulder, making frightened little _sob!_ noises. The reaction even left Jazz a little startled – had he actually been mistaken about the little one? – but it had the desired response.

"Aw, come on, Jazz, was that necessary?" Sideswipe scolded, uneasily, and beside him Sunstreaker visibly backed down. "No need to terrify the poor thing with the threat of those psycho fliers. Come on, Sunny…" He caught his twin's arm, and backed off, allowing Jazz to pass, at last. "We've got more important things to do, we can find things out later-…"

"What's got you so upset, hey, Button?" Jazz soothed, anxiously, once they were out of earshot down the corridor. _Please don't tell me she _is_ scared of Skywarp, after all…!_

"Tol' them," she sniffled, head still tucked up against his shoulder. "Jas say not to tell, not safe! And Jas tol' them!"

Jazz could have kicked himself – not for telling, as such, but for doing so _while she was in earshot._ The one thing he'd expressly told her _not_ to do, and he'd gone and done it! That probably _had_ terrified her – she was probably even now waiting for some sort of dire consequences. "I know, I've been a bad Jazz," he agreed, gently. "But you don't need to be scared of those two." _Still being a bad Jazz, now you're __lying__ to her_. "They're just a bit over-enthusiastic about things."

Footloose seemed a little more reassured, though. "Suneaker and Sighswipe not be angry with?" she wondered, faintly, finally relaxing her hold a little bit and settling where she could see his face.

He managed a smile. "No, not with you."

"…be angry with Jas?"

"Eehh, well… Maybe a little, when they find out I've been helping you hide your secret, but not right now."

"Because am Autobots?" she guessed. "But have already tol' them…!"

Explaining what it meant to call someone's bluff was probably beyond the little one's comprehension, right now, but there were always other ways to explain it. "They think I'm pretending," Jazz reassured. "Because you're little and cute, and, well… Skywarp isn't."

Her brow furrowed in thought. "They think Jas make joke?" she interpreted.

"That's right. And let's try keep it that way until we find Starscream, right?"

0o0o0o0o0

With an exhausted Slipstream curled up and offline in his lap, Thundercracker had been dozing, mostly dormant but with one audio online for trouble, when the low _zzt_ of the security field de-energising attracted his attention. He kept his optics low, so muted that against the harsh corridor lighting the dim glow would be all but invisible, and watched as Deuce's silhouette slunk through the doorway with a mysterious square-ish case clutched in one hand. What was he up to _now_? The past few days, the truck had been actively avoiding everyone, Siphon included, and the tanker had thrown a fit when he'd realised the truck was missing. The fact Deuce was back and in fair condition _now_, Thundercracker guessed Siphon had either _threatened _or _bribed _him back into line.

Deuce made his way over to the corner, where a heavily-drugged and very confused Pulsar was still sprawled untidily out, vents buzzing quietly, looking like Siphon had dropped her there from a great height. The tanker had hauled the Policebot off fairly early on, before anyone had even had their rations for the day. He'd then collected the other two some time later, and by the time they got back, Pulsar was already a heap of dirty plating in the corner, mostly incoherent when Thundercracker attempted to ask her what had happened. A quick visual examination revealed a new injury on her right side, a long hairline fracture that raced from the topmost point of her hip down to the midpoint where her inner thigh connected, but nothing else particularly major.

The Seeker watched, suspiciously, as the truck settled on the floor, and gathered the broken machine carefully against himself so she lay across his lap. He snapped the case open, and withdrew a long, fine pair of what looked like bolt-cutters… Thundercracker tensed, preparing himself in case he needed to move to fend the truck off, but Deuce looked like dealing out violence was furthest from his mind. He examined her damaged shoulder, briefly, folded her shoulder-guard up out of the way, then carefully ran his fingers up one of the long wires that trailed untidily out of the wound and clipped it off, neatly, close to the socket.

Pulsar grunted softly in pain and tried to shove him away, but looked like she was still so drowsy she probably didn't even know who he was. Her feeble shove missed his shoulder altogether, flailed briefly in midair.

"I'm sorry," Thundercracker heard the faint little murmur from the mech's vocaliser. "I'm trying to be gentle, but it's hard when you won't sit still."

"You decided to come back, then," Thundercracker observed, softly.

Deuce jumped, but didn't look up from what he was doing. "I was only gone to talk to the humans," he replied, stiffly. "Nothing you need concern yourself with."

"Talk to them about what? What sort of price you could get for us?"

There was a flicker of brighter green in Deuce's optics. "I was _trying _to get them to leave us alone," he corrected, quietly, tracing the next cable back. "If _they_ kill you, they'll still say _I'm_ an accessory. I might not _like_ you, Decepticon, but I don't want you dead from any activity I'm involved in."

Thundercracker was quiet, for a while; it was not the answer he'd been expecting. "So tell me, Blue," he suggested, at last. "Is it _fear_ or _guilt _that drives you on? Because I can't imagine it's any sense of duty to your employer."

"Don't delude yourself into thinking you know anything, Airhead." Deuce's optics glittered angrily, but he kept his head down, carefully snipping the last pieces of trailing wire away from the damaged shoulder. "She was _mine_ long before your stupid brother came along." His voice descended into a poisonous hiss. "And before that _stupid Fatigue _decided he could use her."

_Jealousy?_ That was a new one, and something Thundercracker had again not anticipated. Deuce was such an eccentric, unstable creature, he was impossible to second-guess and often did something completely opposite what was expected of him. "Huh. You _are_ quite the little green-eyed monster, aren't you," the blue jet observed, drolly.

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?" Deuce challenged, at last breaking his concentration and glaring up.

"Something humans say," Thundercracker kept his optics fixed on the green ones that attempted to get him to look away. "It refers to jealousy."

"What makes you think I'm jealous?" Deuce hunched his shoulders and contracted himself down, defensively. "The fact I have green optics?"

"Noo. More to do with what you just said. And there's the fact you seem to be going out of your way to keep her functioning." Thundercracker didn't let his gaze waver. "In spite of the fact your boss seems determined to break her into pieces."

Deuce averted his gaze, and brushed his fingers reluctantly down the long, miraculously unbent antennae that spread from behind her left blinker. "I'm just... I'm worried Siphon's going to get rid of her, soon," he admitted. "Now he's got you two, he doesn't need her so much any more. Been saying he needs to take the final steps with his project."

"The, ah… final steps?" Thundercracker narrowed his optics. "Indulge me. Define what you mean, exactly."

Deuce let his stare wander off sideways, reluctantly. "Probably shouldn't tell you."

"That hasn't stopped you before," Thundercracker reminded, and kept his harsh gaze fixed on him. "I'd like to know if he's planning on killing anyone."

Deuce gazed down at the semi-conscious femme in his lap, and the dim blue optic that stared without seeing at the distant wall. When he finally spoke, it was so faintly that Thundercracker barely heard him. "No. No, he's not going to kill her. Not on purpose, anyway," he whispered, reluctantly. "He's going to try to break her psyche before he lets her go. She's already leery of close contact with anyone, but he wants her scared of _him_. He wants to use her as bait, to make Skywarp angry, to get him to come here."

Thundercracker felt an invisible fist close down on his primary pump. Siphon's words echoed to him from the recent past; _you're a surrogate_. Suddenly it became clear exactly what the tanker was planning. _You're going to take his place, Thundercracker. You're going to be what I use to brutalise her psyche._

Deuce looked genuinely upset. "I don't want to be part of this," he complained. "I _never_ wanted to be part of this…! I was _happy _at the hospital. I was making progress, I was even thinking about trying to make a fresh start. My psychiatrist even said I could try applying for a courier's post! Then _Siphon _came along." He wrinkled his lip, bitterly. "The stupid vengeful half-smelted purge-for-processors."

"You could have gone back," Thundercracker reminded him, trying not to dwell too hard on his realisation. "If you'd made the effort, they might have looked even more favourably on you."

"Probably, but that's not the sort of thing that immediately crosses you mind when you have a voice whispering in your ear." Deuce shook his head, bitterly. "Telling you you're already past the point of no return and wouldn't it be _good_ to get your own back for all the things done to you by your enemies. By the time we got here and I realised what he was doing to me, Siphon had already added about half a dozen extra criminal charges to my record. Absconding, kidnap, assault, actual bodily harm, criminal damage…" His optics flared a fiery green, and he added, glaring, unconsciously drawing his 'patient' closer; "Who'd have ever believed that the known addict, the known _psycho_, had wanted nothing to do with it?"

Pulsar shifted uneasily in his lap. "…put me… put me down, warp…" she slurred, softly, apparently mistaking the truck's navy armour for the teleport's black fuselage.

That seemed to be the poke Deuce required to recover his senses. He leaned closer to her audios and murmured something that Thundercracker couldn't catch, and finally tucked his tools away in his case, gently letting her back down to the sand and arranging her more tidily along the wall than she had previously been, cheek pillowed against her arm.

Thundercracker watched the truck make his sullen departure, and wondered if he could develop this into a proper (albeit wary) alliance. If he was careful, and planed his words well, he could coax Deuce over to their side. Maybe use the truck as an 'insider', the same way Skywarp had briefly been for Blue. Because it was probably the only way they were going to make any headway – it was only a matter of time before Siphon got tired of posturing and taunting, and just flat drugged all three of his captives. The sooner they had a 'friend' on the inside, however tenuous that description might be, the better…

0o0o0o0o0

Okay, so… maybe _ground-pounding_… wasn't… _khnn_… wasn't so bad… as he _remembered_ it being… Starscream mused, leaning his weight hard on the branch he'd found to use as a crutch, half-hobbling half-lurching awkwardly through the undergrowth and trying to keep himself from going flat on his face for the ninth time in as many breems. Since he'd woken up, still at the base of that damned tree, he'd made pretty good progress, in spite of the fact his injured leg was damaged enough to be almost incapable of supporting his weight. Dragging his unsteady bulk over the ground would be almost bearable if it wasn't so _slow… _and _painful… _and _irritating… _and_ degrading…_ and_ dirty…_

Argh, all right, so ground-pounding _was_ every bit as _utterly_ _intolerable_ as he remembered it being.

…With that decision out of the way, he promptly caught the trailing thruster on his bad leg in the undergrowth and went flat on his face in the mud again.

Under that thin veneer of patient determination, the red Seeker was _seething_. Absolutely fragged _right_ the _Pit_ off. _Next time I won't cure you, you bag of purge-poor smeltings not even fit for scrap_, he cursed Megatron, in absentia. Slagging him after a failed coup was fair play, but slagging him for _this_ – and right out in the middle of frigging _nowhere_, left flightless and slap bang in the middle of Squishy territory –was soooo below the ejector valve. Once he'd thought up something suitably _humiliating_, he'd get his own back for _this_, for definite!

Grumbling barely-articulate Decepticon curses through his vents, Starscream peeled himself out of his puddle and examined the traitorous leg. Yuck. He wrinkled his features up in that look of pure unadulterated _disgust _that only he was truly capable of conveying. The rear armour had sheared right off some time ago, leaving the inner mechanism of his turbine and his cold fusion core completely exposed to the environment, and now it was absolutely caked in mud. So not only was there _no way_ the limb was going to be standing up to carrying his weight, not with half the main structural components missing, it was now filthy, too!

Thinking about slagging Ramjet _did_ give him a small measure of malicious pleasure and a flush of determined energy, steadying himself against a tree and levering himself back to his feet. His 'crutch' had skittered out of his hands and was several big strides away across the forest floor, but he was damn sure that he wasn't going to drag himself on his belly to get to it. Balancing himself carefully, he managed an unsteady hop-skip to fetch it, and once it was finally secure in his hands again, he felt he was back to optimum hobbling efficiency.

Although the forest floor was muddy, the rest of the environment was pleasantly dry. In a way, it was the let-up in the weather that had been his salvation – it had let him dry out, and once the water was finally, _finally_ all gone, his brutalised circuitry stopped shorting itself out. He had zero concept of how long he'd lay inert in the mud for – it could have been days, it could have been months. All he knew was that _regardless _how long _exactly_ it was, even just a _single _Terran orn was far too long. He had to get a ping for help out to Skywarp, which was going to be easier said than done because his transmitter was mostly non-functional – he had a range of a hundred yards or so, and that was it.

Now he was dry, he wanted to _stay_ dry, at least until he'd got Skywarp's attention. The last thing he wanted was to get water back into sensitive circuits and short out again before he could be rescued, if that accursed rain should start up for the umpteenth time. He needed to find something to seal off the fractures – again, easier said than done, out here. Mud, sticks and leaves would be about as much good as a paper blast-shield, and even something as primitive as a welding torch would be nonexistent…

The trees up ahead attracted his scientific curiosity – they were spindly-looking things, not those bright green ones with flat leaves, but dark green, bristly ones with heavy arrays of thin needles at the tips of their branches. It wasn't the trees themselves he was interested in, but rather the yellowish substance on their trunks – a sticky, resinous sap. He crouched and poked at it, scooped a little on one scuffed blue fingertip.

Ugh. He rubbed it between thumb and forefinger and pulled a face – thick, sticky, and wiping his hand against the grass didn't seem very effective at getting it off. Which – annoyingly – made it an ideal temporary sealant.

He managed to harvest _just_ enough of the disgusting stuff to layer over the fractures in his armour that had allowed water into his system. To keep the water out, it was no way near as good as a proper silicone sealer, but for the short term – oh, Primus, it _better_ just be for the short term! – it'd serve. If only it didn't have to mean he'd get even _more _caked-on dirt on his poor abused fuselage.

Had to find a road, he decided, slithering (mostly on his aft) down a grassy embankment. Not going to get anywhere like this. First find a road with human vehicles, and then find himself a truck, and preferably bribe a human to drive it for him. How very galling, to have to plead his case to the _humans_, beg them for help…! It left him curled up and cringing inside. But what else could he do? For once, pride was forced to take a backseat to self-preservation. He had to find his wing-mates, and grounded, injured and low on fuel, he wasn't going to manage it alone.

0o0o0o0o0

Funny how easy it was for things to become _routine_, Thundercracker mused. Following their new little morning ritual, he had ensured the other two had got a little fuel into them before taking the dregs for himself. One cube was invariably more than enough - Slipstream only needed a tiny fraction of a cube to fill up completely, and Pulsar was never active enough to need more than a few mouthfuls to rectify her deficit, so there was usually plenty left. They'd even managed to get used to the poor-quality dross Siphon provided them with – although it occasionally made Slipstream's infant fuel-handling-system go into spasm, making him look for all the world like he had hiccups.

Once breakfast was done with, there wasn't really a whole lot to do except sit and talk. When Pulsar was lucid enough to hold a conversation, she and Thundercracker would discuss things that had happened since the Seekers had returned to Earth. When she was back lost in her foggy interior world, Thundercracker indulged Slipstream's quiet curiosity about the world. _Never thought I'd end up being a teacher_, he'd mused the day before, tiredly, using a handful of shards of armour and two pieces of wire stripped from his own broken wing to demonstrate an electrical phenomena.

…Today was going to be different. Usually alert and interested in what his 'uncle' was teaching him, Slipstream was already slumped against him only a breem or two after finishing refuelling, looking wobbly, unable to keep his little head up. That was very uncharacteristic – it usually took the little one a long time to relax enough to allow himself to go dormant, but he'd gone very quiet very quickly.

"Slipstream?" Thundercracker picked him up, carefully, both hands around his small torso, and gave him a little shake. "Wakey wakey, Seem…"

The sparkling made a slurring, incoherent noise and his head lolled uselessly. His optics were a dim violet, almost completely offline. Worried, Thundercracker turned his glance towards Pulsar, to find her sprawled out along the wall; her fans were humming softly, so she was presumably in recharge, not anything more sinister… but she'd lost consciousness pretty damn quickly.

_Drugged_, Thundercracker thought, the realisation hitting him like a bolt of silver clarity. _Which means-… slag it all, that means I am too._

He rolled himself to hands and knees and purged his tanks, violently, wondering if he'd caught it in time. _Damn. Damn damn damn! _He'd got complacent, not religiously checking each and every cube for adulterants, and it had come back to bite him. _Too late. Too late. _Even though his tanks were empty enough to _feel _hollow, he'd left it too late – enough tainted fuel had passed into his main relays for the nanites to access his analytical plates and offload their narcotic viruses into his mainframe. He could feel himself drifting. His optics had gone unfocussed, and his limbs were responding sluggishly.

He was still on his hands and knees, struggling to support his firewalls, when Siphon glided up to the security field, like some sort of smiling, sinister wraith, and let himself inside.

"So. You discovered my little gift," the tanker oiled, sweetly, catching his fingers under one of his captive's shoulder vents and rocking him lightly backwards. "I'm so glad. I'd have hated to have had to take drastic measures."

"I won't-… won't do… anything… you tell me to do," Thundercracker slurred, landing with a whump on his aft in the sand, dredging the words out of his vocabulary with a painful difficulty. Primus, even stringing a simple sentence together was tortuous!

"That's all right. I'm not going to _tell_ you to do anything," Siphon reassured him, gently, and coaxed him right over onto his back. "I just need you to go night-night for a little while."

"I ww-… wwwon't help… you…" Thundercracker insisted, his deep voice sinking even lower into grumbling incoherence.

"Oh, I think you will." The voice floated to him as if coming down a long, hollow pipe filled with damping foam. Fingers touched his brow, tilted his head back, and something cold dabbed against the inside of his lips; he felt like biting down on it, but couldn't get the hydraulics in his jaw hinge to respond. "Goodnight, _Skywarp_," the voice mocked; the murky orange glow of optics dimmed out, and Thundercracker finally lost his grip on consciousness.

0o0o0o0o0

"All right, Sepp. Try that. Any better?"

Ratchet was acting rather like a concerned parent, Forceps considered, measuring her stride, carefully. A transmission cable in her thigh had been wound too tight, locking her knee, and it had taken a whole orn to access the tension gear to be able to relax it. "Better," she confirmed, flexing the joints. There was still a long way to go before she was running (well, lumbering) about normally, because they were having to built all the parts from the ground up, but at least she was back on her own feet again, moving about under her own steam.

The door _banged_ back on its hinges, admitting first a fuming Sunstreaker, then a clustering of concerned, anxious and just plain nosy mechs in his wake.

Ratchet gave him _that_ look. "Can I help you, Sunny?"

Sunstreaker didn't beat about the bush. "You do realise what it is that you're helping there, don't you?" he challenged, stabbing an accusatory finger at them.

"No, Sunstreaker, I have absolutely no idea," Ratchet deadpanned back. "My optics have suddenly become non-functional. Why don't you tell me?"

The sarcastic tone of voice was completely lost on the yellow mech. "Well, I guess it should have been obvious, seeing the way you're so merrily patching up that _Decepticon spy_,so she can happily wreak _whatever damage she likes_!"

"Aside from the fact I don't believe for one minute that _any_ Decepticon could wreak quite so much havoc as you and your brother, I don't really think-"

"I've got proof right here in vivid technicolour," Sunstreaker cut in, and waved a large sheet of card bearing a colour printout, as if it were a weapon. "Great plan, wasn't it?" he directed his anger at Forceps. "Play the inoffensive, injured femme, so you could sneak your way _right _into the heart of our home. What's next, wait until you're mobile again then sneak away to sabotage the generator core? Blow us all sky high?"

Her hands had already flexed into fists, tight and furious at her sides; she took one step forwards before Ratchet caught her shoulder. "How about I indulge you, then, Autobot? Sanctimonious little glitch like you could do with a good punch in the faceplates!"

"Oh yeah? So why don't you just _bring it on_, femme-!?"

"Get out of here, Sunstreaker," Ratchet barked, pitching a wrench at him. "I can do quite without you causing a riot!"

"Only if you agree to put her in the brig when you're done, where she _belongs_!" Sunstreaker countered, neatly sidestepping the flying equipment; there was a yelp from behind as it impacted Cliffjumper instead. "Otherwise I think I'll stay here, to keep an eye on things."

"That isn't for _you_ to decide. Take your concerns to Optimus, if you're so worried." Ratchet gestured threateningly with a stylus. "If he decides to agree to your paranoia? Fair enough. Otherwise? Get the Pit out and let me work!" He directed his attention briefly over Sunstreaker's shoulder. "Sideswipe! Get your twin out of here before I advise Prowl that _both _of you deserve a month of menial chores."

"That's hardly fair!" Sideswipe exclaimed, but hastily bundled Sunstreaker – still cursing – out of the doorway.

The stillness that descended back on the medical bay was an uneasy one. Ratchet stooped and picked up the piece of paper Sunstreaker had dropped on his way out; it was a bad-quality photograph, and _very _old if the datestamp was anything to go by. A few of the blurred figures were recognisable as high-ranking, long-deceased Decepticons, but there was a pale greenish smudge just on the very border, outlined by Sunstreaker in thick black marker. _Damn._ He rubbed the back of his neck, stiffly. This only threw up questions, not answers. What _was_ she doing, standing there with them? A hostage? A coincidental bystander? Surely not actually pledging her allegiance to them…

When he turned back to face her, Forceps was on her berth, with her shoulders rounded and her head hanging, legs crossed beneath her, hands in her lap. She found a wan smile from somewhere, but it faded rapidly. "That was exciting," she drawled, tiredly. "Now what happens?"

"I know it's not the way you do things, but you're going to have to explain yourself, Forceps," Ratchet suggested, softly, carefully laying the photograph down _just_ where she could see it, on the opposing berth. "An accusation like that isn't something people here will just stand back and forget about, and as it stands right now? _You_ are the outsider. _You_ have the mysterious past, you are the one people don't know if they can trust, and I'm sure they'll all be more inclined to listen to Sunny and Sides' points of view, however disjointed it might sound."

"Comes to a bit when a machine doesn't even have the right to her own privacy," the green femme groused, half-heartedly, studying her fingers.

"Perhaps so," Ratchet allowed, quietly, watching as Jazz edged through the door with a very quiet Footloose. "Perhaps you could try and see it from our point of view. We're all Autobots." He spread his hands. "And in that photograph is a machine that looks rather like you. Which begs the question. _Were _you ever a Decepticon?"

At last, she looked up, and met his gaze; her optics had only a dim, tired glow. "Hardly any point to denying it when he has his proof there in living colour, is it? Yes, I was," she confirmed, bluntly, and curled her lips into a gloomy smile.

"That wasn't what I wanted to hear," Ratchet sighed.

She lifted a finger. "In my defence, it was for a grand total of five whole orns." Her smile became tired, cynical. "I'm amazed your two dug that out, to be honest. I didn't think my name even got onto their register."

"Why, Sepp?" Jazz wondered, coming around the end of the berth and letting Footloose settle at the foot of it; the sparkling remained very quiet, hands wrapped around her ankles, apparently sensing the gravity of the situation. "After getting to know you on Cybertron? Hardly seems to be your style, Megatron's whole 'destroy and pillage' regime."

"I shared a few of their ideals," she explained, quietly, although something about her manner seemed evasive. "Just a few, but enough. To remove the stagnating aristocracy. To remove the way that only those who could buy it could have safety, security, health and freedom from fear. But…" She spread her hands. "I disagreed with Megatron's methods of regime change, and what he wanted to replace society with. I backed out and said I didn't want to be part of it when I realised they didn't want democracy, they wanted totalitarian rule. They were disorganised enough not to miss me when I slipped away, back then."

"You could have joined the Autobots, if you felt so strongly," Ratchet reminded. "You've heard Optimus' thoughts on the matter. Freedom is the right of _all_ sentient beings."

She wrinkled her nose in a cynical pout. "You'll forgive me for pointing out that I saw little difference between factions, back then. You were both content to impose your rules by force. If it wasn't oligarchy and nepotism, then it was dictatorship and violence, and only the privileged few had anything." She shook her head, and vented hot air in a sigh. "More than anything, I was angry," she admitted, touching her fingers absently to her chest. "And I couldn't join the ones who'd forced me to approach the Decepticons in the first place."

The silence seemed to physically press down on the audios of all the machines present.

"You're saying it was the _Autobots_ that drove you to join _Megatron_?" Ratchet all but blurted the words out. "What in Primus name did we _do_ to you?"

"As a faction? Nothing. As individuals, nothing." She averted her gaze, reluctantly. "It's… complicated."

"Complicated enough to make you want to throw your hand in with Megatron, then blame _us_?!"

"I was _angry_. Anger does strange things to the way a machine thinks!" she snapped back, tensing her fingers into a fist against her chest. "At the time, seemed to be a good idea. I didn't think it would come back to haunt me all these hundreds of thousands of vorns later…!"

Footloose had warily edged her way up the berth while the adults argued, and was now pressed up against Forceps' hip. "Ausep feelings hurt?" she wondered, quietly, placing both palms down on her thigh.

Forceps glanced down at the sparkling, and sighed and picked her up. "Don't you worry, Button, Auntie's just in a grumpy mood again," she said, gruffly, as the small femme wriggled herself comfortable in the crook of her elbow.

"Atchet make Ausep sad?" Footloose decided to try Slipstream's trick, and hummed a little harmonic against her aunt's chest.

"No, it's not Ratchet's fault," Forceps accepted, with a vague smile, and pinged the sparkling's short antennae. "Just an old mistake of mine, come back to haunt me."

"Ausep not make mistakes," Footloose pointed out, maintaining her harmonic undertone.

"Ha! If only that were true…" Forceps hummed along with her, for a little while. "So. What were you and Jazz up to, this morning? Causing trouble, no doubt!"

Footloose glanced up, and explained, quietly; "We try look for Star with Sky Spy. Not on Tel'tran to see."

"He's gone?" A flicker of dismay crossed the surgeon's features. "I suppose it's too much to ask that Jazz might have sent someone out to help him."

Jazz met the challenging tilt to the golden optics with his own steady blue gaze, and shook his head, apologetically. "I'd figured he was safe enough where he was," he admitted. "It's not a place well-travelled by many humans, and we could keep an easy eye out for Megatron, so we're working on the premise Skywarp might have found him."

"Hrf." Forceps sounded unconvinced. "Having seen those pictures you snapped of Skywarp, I'm reserving my judgement for now…"

"Suishies find," Footloose suggested. "Jas say Optimus to ask hoomings if they have. Maybe fix?" She glanced up. "But not make into candies. Not edible."

"You and your mints!" Forceps clucked, amusedly, then gave her a poke in the winglet. "Hey, Lucy. Look down," she said, conspiratorially, and swung her legs when the sparkling's attention was in the right direction.

"Aunnie Ausep feet working?" she asked, cheerfully, then added, more quietly, leaning up right next to her audio; "We go find Unnol Sta'zim now? Jas says not make dead, but is lost."

"We better wait for Ratchet to give me the okay," Forceps demurred, gently. "It's probably not a good idea, right now."

"But we must find!" Footloose insisted, earnestly.

"And we will! Just… not right now. Once it's a bit safer."

0o0o0o0o0

Skywarp had rapidly found that high octane aircraft fuel wasn't that much better than automobile petroleum. It was riskier to get to, as well, because he had to raid airports to get it, but he could handle it better and it didn't make him feel like purging his tanks for the rest of the day, so he was willing to make the sacrifice.

Stealing fuel while he was unarmed was an increasingly risky business. The marginally safer option (because they had previously been unarmed) was to hit the international airports – sneaky hit-and-run attacks, grab a tanker and swipe its contents, and scarper before they could mount a defence. It was hard to do the whole "shock and awe" thing, because let's face it, big lumbering jetliners were too heavy for him to fling about, and yelling and stamping was only getting him so far, but so long as he had a quiet breem or two to refuel he didn't need the Squishies to run away too far.

The other, more dangerous option was to target army bases – at least, it was more dangerous, but the fuel was better, which was all that made it worthwhile. He'd sneak in under their radar while it was dark, crash about so noisily they'd think there were at least six of him, and shock them into a brief retreat, throw a few jet fighters about before the humans could get _into_ them and attack him, and while they were trying to come to a good defence he'd raid the fuel store. Hot thrusters were usually good for igniting the leftover and giving him enough of a distraction to get away. They _did_ often have surface-to-air missiles, annoyingly, and escaping those usually meant he had to rely on his teleport, and that sucked energy out of him like nobody's business, right now.

It would be so much easier if the Squishies just _stayed _gone when he scared them off – they might be a plague of annoying, _stupid_ little noisy biologicals, but they'd proved they had a pretty darn good capacity for learning. The last two airbases he'd hit had actually been waiting for him to show up, SAMs ready and waiting, and he barely got out with his armour intact, certainly no fuel.

After spending a pointless day huddled next to a soggy power relay station in the most remote, rain-soaked location he could find, Skywarp elected to try a new tactic. Instead of flying in when it got dark, he landed a short distance away before the sun had even set, and sneaked his way closer at ground level. He edged his way all the way up to the crest of the cliff, tortuously slowly, and peered down onto the airbase, twinkling quietly in the distance. The humans were milling about busily, and he could see a frigging _tank_ rolling slowly along in the distance, but they didn't seem to be paying a whole lot of attention to the ground – their little wet optics were all directed up into the sky, where their aeroplanes slowly patrolled, engines droning. That was _kiind_ of a good sign – he might just stand a chance of avoiding detection, a dark jet on dark, shadowy ground, and sneaking in when it got dark – but also kind of a _bad_ sign, because there were no fuel tankers visible anywhere. Drat. Stupid humans must have parked them out of reach. He pouted, irritably. That meant he'd have to encroach pretty far on their territory just to _find_ something worth stealing, let alone manage to actually steal it-

"There he is!"

The hostile voice jangled into his awareness like a physical blow, and he jumped, startled. It was pure dumb luck that he shoved himself up from his prone position on the ground to look over his shoulder, because a fraction of a millisecond later a beam of crackling orange destruction stabbed into the ground where his shoulder vent had just been.

_Aerialbots!_ He cursed, alarmed, and threw himself further out of the way, laser fire smattering the ground and sizzling close enough to his fuselage to leave silvery scorchmarks. _Damn, damn damn damn! _Couldn't fight back, couldn't outfly them, and he probably didn't have enough power left in him to teleport. _Just get moving. Think about it once you're up!_

He could hear someone yelling in the background – "guys, _guys_, cut it out! We're just supposed to _talk_ to him!" – but the enemy fliers fairly comprehensively ignored the speaker.

"I'm unarmed, I'm unarmed!" Skywarp bleated, not bothering to try and find out what the Aerialbot had meant and just plain fleeing on foot, but the Aerialbots didn't take much notice, raining a maelstrom of gingery laser-fire around him and over his wings until he managed to get enough ergs together to engage his teleport, and skipped just far enough away to be out of reach. He could still hear them, way away in the distance, but the noise of engines wasn't getting any closer, and it was dark enough and he was cool enough that the trees would be just enough of a screen to hide him from any patrols…

That last jump had pretty much finished him off. He'd not refuelled properly in days, and was all the way down to the last vapours in his last backup reserve. He didn't so much _sit down_ as just plain fall onto his aft with a _thump_ in the grass.

_Out of options_, his subconscious said, with that desperate crashing finality it had got so good at lately, as he sagged his head into his hands, exhaustedly. _Out of options. No home, no fuel, no friends, no family, nothing. What in frag's name am I going to _do_?_

_Can't go back to _Nemesis_. Well, I could, but I'd be lucky if Megatron just took _both_ my wings and lengthened my spell in isolation by a vorn or two. _And_ I'd have to crawl and grovel and beg and it'd probably hurt, too, so that's out. And how am I gonna find the guys if I'm back in that horrible little cell? No, no _Nemesis.

_Cybertron? No. How would I _get_ there, in the first place? Can't just fly all that way! Vantage might be willing to be bribed to let me onto the bridge, but I bet Megs has increased the number of guards there by now. Besides, even if I got onto the bridge this side, there's no way that aft-kisser Shockwave would let me _off_ at the other end. He'd completely _own_ my unarmed aft in a firefight. _

_Where would I go even if I got there? Boxer said we'd be welcome back, but I'll bet he changes his mind when he finds out what fraggery went on, here. Hardline will _trounce_ me if he finds out those slagging coneheaded idiots killed Sepp, and what in Primus would I tell Squeaky, when we find her?! Sorry, Pulse, I know I only had the kids for a couple of weeks but Megatron killed both of 'em because I was too damn stupid to keep them safe and away from him… _

He sighed, tucked his knees up against his chest and slumped so his chin rested on them. He'd have to find some sort of power relay somewhere, recharge his batteries. Funny how it only became apparent how much a machine took that grotty low-grade energon for granted when he couldn't even get _that_ any more. And Hook, too – might be a supercilious old snob, but at least he tried to do a good job when he was playing doctor!

_My pumps are all getting glued up with residue from that disgusting petroleum energon. My wing is barely hanging on. I'm slow and sluggish and so damn_ tired_. Screamer and TC must both be dead by now. That means by definition so are the little ones. Sepp is dead, too. Squeaky is probably still missing. And if you'd only kept your_ _damn vocaliser offline, we'd_ all _be back on Cybertron, sorting this stupid mess out._ He rubbed the bridge of his nose, miserably.

_If I can't find them, bring them back, the least I can do is try and avenge their names, even if it means I die trying. _

There was only one option left. An option that left him feeling like someone's hands were around his primary relays, slowly cutting off his energon and choking the life out of him, but it was the only option he had, because he couldn't struggle on the way he had been for any longer.

Autobots.


	12. Chapter 11

**Warped - Chapter Eleven**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** When Deuce is off his meds he's _really hard to write_ :( (Although this is later on. This is just me grumbling. :P) :huuurgh:

Just a shortish one, for now. I'll get back up to speed soon, I hope. ;)

* * *

When Pulsar finally began to return to the world of the living, her vision came back online to such a complete wall of unbroken silvery-blue she at first assumed her remaining semi-functional optic had finally packed in altogether. Then she noticed the weight across her shoulders, and as lucidity returned she realised that the reason she recognised the bluish colour was because it was Thundercracker.

She startled, alarmed, and leaped away from him; his arm – which had been propped across her shoulders – dropped back against his side with a low, heavy _clunk_. This was clearly another of Siphon's crude ideas of a joke, to leave her snuggled against her fellow captive when he knew she didn't want to be so close to _anyone_. At least Slipstream looked safe – albeit completely offline on Thundercracker's other side, a little dark blur tucked into the corner formed by the Seeker's wing-stump and his flank. She hoped he was still unharmed.

…the longer she looked, the more she realised there was something _wrong_ with the blue Seeker. She strained to get her failing vision to focus, but the blurs remained as blurs. It felt like a small eternity (although it was probably actually only a few seconds) before she worked out he looked _off_ because his legs were the wrong colour – not their normal blue with a black trim, just plain black all over.

She shifted, uneasily; circulating coolant suddenly felt _too _cold. It was almost as if Siphon was trying to make him look like Skyw-… she forced the idea out of her mind. Wasn't going to think what implications that had, because there was only one reason she could imagine that the sociopath would need a duplicate Skywarp for. _No, stop thinking about it. We're going to be out of here before any of __that__ happens._

After a quarter-breem or so of dithering, she dared to inch closer. "TC? Thundercracker? Wake up?" she whispered, grasping his shoulder vent and giving him a little shake, to which his head lolled slowly sideways but his optics failed to light. "Come on, TC. Please? Don't leave me alone here with them…"

"I wouldn't bother," a voice said, softly, and she glanced up to find Deuce silhouetted in the doorway. "That narcotic will take his firewalls another ten or twenty breems to purge off his mainframe." He released the security field and let himself inside for just long enough to put down two murky cubes, then slipped back out into the corridor and reactivated the field. "Siphon doesn't want him waking up before the enamel is completely dry." He gave her the briefest of glances. "To be honest I'm surprised _you_ woke up so soon. Maybe you're getting tolerant of the sedatives."

"I just didn't have much," she corrected, quietly. "Can't keep a lot of fluid down at the moment."

"Hm." The truck glanced briefly down the corridor, and counselled, unexpectedly; "Best not tell Siphon, if you want to keep your wits about yourself – he might go back to personally giving you your rations if he thinks your dosage is getting too low."

She tensed at the idea; it had been long enough since she'd last had Siphon's spidery hands probing through her intakes that she'd almost begun to forget the sensation, but the reminder brought it back with a painfully stark clarity. "If you're that worried, can't you get us out of here?" she wondered, faintly, trying to appeal to the better nature she hoped he had hidden in there somewhere. "When Siphon's not about, all you have to do is leave the door open-…"

Deuce shifted, awkwardly. "Aside from the fact he won't forgive me for that sort of stupidity, you won't get very far with the collars on," he reminded, quietly. "I'm not sure I could get all three off you before he noticed. Maybe one of you, but all three, no."

"Then… maybe just… Deuce, if you do nothing else, can't you get Seem out of here?" she implored, getting as close as she could to him. "You don't have to tell anyone anything other than where they can collect him from, you don't have to let anyone know where this place is, Siphon can keep me here and I won't even fight, just _please_-"

"I can't." The truck averted his gaze, guiltily. "I can't, Siphon will know it was me, and I'm already on dangerous ground with him. You know the collars you wear?" He lifted his hand and demonstrated a similar looking 'bangle' on his wrist. "He didn't take kindly to me doing a runner the other day. If I cross the line once more, I lose my hand."

"How is it fair to dump a sparkling at the centre of this?" she pleaded. "It's not him that Siphon wants, it's me!"

"It's _none of you _that Siphon really wants," Deuce corrected, quietly. "He wants Skywarp, and he'll use whatever means he needs to get him – and if that includes abusing his sparkling, so be it. First to punish _him_, then to use him as a bargaining chip to get Cali out once he's finished with him."

"You know they won't honour that sort of bargain-!" Pulsar reminded, trying to ignore the slow, creeping dismay that was crawling like cold fingers up the back of her helm. "There's no way they'll let her out."

"No, and neither will Siphon honour his side of things. If he gets his hands on Skywarp? Then your Seeker friend is dead."

"Can't you just… sedate him? Sneak something into his energon?" she pleaded. "You know where it's kept. That'd solve _all_ our problems."

"Don't you think I haven't already tried?" Deuce shook his head. "I can't get to any of the liquids in this place, except what he gives me. He doesn't trust me not to use his energon for myself, and if I could have got to where he keeps my medicines? I'd have been gone _long_ before now..."

"So you say. For all I know, you're playing your own game with me," she accused, shakily. "Acting all friendly, trying to get me to let things slip so you can squeak about it to Siphon…"

His look darkened - his optics flickered with heat, and he snapped, grimly; "of course, you've caught me out, femme. Because I was a crazed homicidal sociopath when I was almost blind from Blue, to such a degree I didn't know where I was or even what _age_ it was, half the time, that _must_ be what I'm like normally."

He sounded genuinely hurt, and she noticed his hands were shaking. She ducked her head and backed down, sinking to the sandy floor, defeated. "I'm sorry, I didn't-... didn't mean to hurt-..." She averted her gaze under his suddenly hostile green glare. "Why _did _you come back?" she asked, at last, softly.

Deuce fidgeted, and rubbed his arms. "Ran out of my medication," he husked. "Humans got scared and tried to kill me..."

0o0o0o0o0

While Deuce endured having anxious prisoners preying shamelessly on his unstable conscience, Siphon endured guests of quite a different kind.

While Vallory remained outside, in their truck, Mitchell (who the tanker had been hoping never to have to see again) had gone into the disguised emplacement in the cliffside. Alone – because there was _no way _Vallory was going to follow him in there. Before he'd even got into their truck, he'd gone around kicking its tyres to _ensure_ it was their truck, not a doppelganger-truck-robot-guy, before he'd been willing to get in. He hadn't _much _liked the big aliens from the start, so when that dark blue one went from anxious and depressed to anxious and depressed and _crazy_, he'd put his foot down and said he wasn't going near 'em again until they turned back into normal people. Whatever "normal people" was, for giant frickin' alien death-bots…

Mitchell had come up from el-Hagg Qandil to try and barter for the additional compensation he believed he was due. He at first tried to claim his reason for coming back was to make sure Deuce had got back safely without getting waylaid, because the truck had stayed with them in the little Egyptian town for a day or two before his medications had worn off and he'd gone "a little off the rails", but eventually, the human admitted he was actually here because he was on the scrounge. There was significant interest in the Seeker's weapons, but no-one had yet approached them with a good price (seemed to think that because they were small-scale arms dealers, they'd be a pushover when it came to price), and he wanted to see if Siphon had smaller things he could flog more easily while he was waiting.

"You are wasting this opportunity!" Mitchell insisted, pursuing Siphon down the corridor, frustratedly. "You're sitting on a _fortune,_ because you're obsessed with this… this stupid, petty scheme of revenge you're indulging yourself in! You could sell the blue one for _trillions_, on the international arms market. There's people who'd pay you a small fortune just for _parts_ of him!"

"What need do _I_ have for human monetary compensation?" Siphon hissed, scornfully, glaring down at the human, his thin staticky vocalisations echoing and amplifying itself through his pipes. "I don't plan on being here any longer than I absolutely have to be."

"And what if it takes longer than you anticipate, huh?" Mitchell was unfazed by the irascible alien. "Where are you gonna get supplies from? Fuel, power, sundries? You won't be able to _nick_ 'em all because someone will catch you, eventually."

"That's what I have Deuce for." Siphon leaned right down close to the human's level, so closely that Mitchell could smell the high stink of low-grade fuel, vaporising off his faulty temperature gauge; judging by the way he leaned away and flapped a hand in front of his face, the human didn't much care for it. "He's _expendable_, in the grand scheme of things. If they catch him, so what?"

"Right, so what'll you do once you've lost your runner, huh?"

Siphon narrowed his optics and turned away, silently; the human had made an excellent point, but he wasn't about to qualify it.

"You'll have to go out and do it yourself, won't you?" Mitchell chased, allowing the tanker to extend the gap between them until he couldn't smell him any more. "Orr, of course… you could employ a couple of your loyal human allies to go get things for you."

Siphon glanced back, maintaining his glare but pursing his lips, very slightly, curious.

"Pay us well enough, and we'll do almost anything you need us to do. You won't even have to betray your presence here," Mitchell added, persuasively. "All we ask is that we get a cut."

Siphon grumbled, at last, and backed down. "All right, _hyoo-_mun. I'll consider it. But don't allow yourself to think that means an agreement, yet!"

Mitchell spread his hands, and couldn't quite hold back his smirk. "I wouldn't dream of it."

0o0o0o0o0

With the instruction to "go amuse yourself for a cycle or two", Footloose had been turfed out of the medical suite by Ratchet, whose amusement at her attempts to help had turned into irritation that she now wouldn't leave his delicate analytical machines alone. He'd given her the boot before she could break anything. It didn't bother her too badly – there hadn't been a whole lot that had grabbed her attention in the infirmary, anyway, for a change. She was a preoccupied, wanting to find someone to grill for information about whether or not they'd found Day yet (or to be more correct, she wanted to find _Jas_ and ask _him_), but no-one she found was really very safe to ask, just yet.

The Airlybots – or whatever their names were – had got back some time ago, and were still in high spirits. She heard Day's name mentioned, and had sneaked close to try and overhear, but she didn't understand a lot of what they were saying, and some of it seemed very impolite! She guessed she could probably ask them some sneaky questions without letting on why she wanted to know, but she didn't _really_ want to have to go and talk to them – these mechs were all big and loud and excitable and she felt rather leery of them. The biggest one, who was talking to Jas, had a patient, genial look about him, though, and she felt maybe he would be safe to talk to, especially if Jas was there with him.

That decided, she sneaked closer, and tugged on his dark fingers, attracting his attention.

"Well, hello there, little one," Silverbolt greeted, correctly interpreting the outstretched arms to mean 'up' and scooping her up off the deck. "What can I do for you?"

"Silverbole find Skawar?" she questioned, earnestly.

"Indeed we did! Skulking around a human airbase, but we chased him off before he could hurt anyone."

She hrm-ed, and fidgeted. "Silverbole not hurt?" she wondered, softly, giving him a concerned little head-cocked look.

"No, not hurt," he confirmed, with a smile. "Not even got a scratch on me!"

She shook her head; that hadn't been what she meant. "Not hurt Skawar?" she chased.

The Aerialbot commander's smile faltered. "…I… beg your pardon?"

She frowned in effort. "Silverbole not make shot at Skawar?"

"I'm not sure I-… Jazz?" Silverbolt cast a pleading glance at Jazz, who was lurking nearby. "Do you understand what she means?"

"What do _you_ think she means?" Jazz wondered, quietly.

Silverbolt gave the little femme in his arms a much closer, more serious look. She looked back, fingers in her mouth. "Why would you be worried," he wondered, carefully, "if we had hurt Skywarp or not?"

Footloose didn't answer vocally, but her little wing-buds had already sagged a fraction lower on her shoulders.

"Jazz? Are you telling me," Silverbolt wondered, at last – carefully, _anxiously_, "that _this_… is… _his_ sparkling?" He didn't seem to be able to actually get their long-time enemy's name through his vocaliser, for once.

"You don't see the family resemblance?"

Silverbolt laughed, uneasily. "Come on, Jazz. Jokes like that aren't very funny!"

"Warning! Warning!" Teletraan-1 interrupted their awkward conversation with a blare of uncomfortable noise. "Decepticons approaching. Decepticons approaching."

"All right." Jazz gave the Aerialbot a serious look. "Silverbolt, you best get the little one back down to the medical suite. This could be _anything _about to drop on our doorstep…"

"Of course, Jazz," Silverbolt inclined his head in agreement. "Shall we go and see Ratchet, little one?"

"Be safe from Meg'tron in firmary?" Jazz heard Footloose asking, as the big jet moved away down the corridor. "But Atchet say am in way, to go amooz self?"

"I think he'll forgive us for hiding from Decepticons…"

Prowl and Optimus had already converged on the video surveillance when Jazz turned back. Judging by their expressions, they were expecting to see the entire phalanx of Megatron's inner circle descending like glowing doom (maybe to finally demand they hand over little Footloose)… but there was just one unsteady pip on the radar.

When they (and half the base) went out to check what was going on, they found a filthy, scorched-looking Skywarp sitting in the dirt outside, his hands in his lap, legs crossed, looking the most forlorn and pathetic they'd ever seen him look. In spite of that – or perhaps because of it – he didn't flinch in the face of all the heavy weapons pointing his way. "I'm unarmed," he rasped, lifting his hands to show his arms were bare. "And I wouldn't have the energy to shoot at you even if I _wasn't_."

The guns in his direction wavered, but didn't go down just yet.

"So you're fed up of stealing fuel, then?" a voice from the back of the crowd challenged.

"Honestly?" Skywarp wanted to snipe back, but couldn't find the energy for it. "Yeah. Their energon is making me sick."

"Ah, suddenly it all makes sense," a different voice – sounded like one of the twins? – added "You're done stealing off humans, because they learned how to kick your aft, and now you're going to try steal off us, right? Well, you won't find _us_ such easy pickings, either, Decepticon!"

There was a ripple of quiet, jeering outrage in agreement.

Skywarp pursed his lips, irritably. "Actually I wanted to ask for-…" _What was that term Screamer used? Oh, yeah._ The words were difficult to force out of his vocaliser, and he actually _winced_ before he got them out. "…political asylum."

There was a murmur of confused sound that spread through the assembled Autobots, and one or two of the heavy weapons actually went down. They seemed to be arguing over whether or not it was just another filthy Decepticon trick. Well, so long as it meant they weren't shooting at him, Skywarp didn't care _what_ it meant.

Ironhide was not one for the suffering of fools lightly. Optimus might have the final say in whether they seriously considered the Decepticon's request or just sent him packing with a firm kick up the afterburners, but he wasn't about to let the vulture just sit unchallenged on their doorstep until such a time as the boss made his mind up. "Unarmed, you say?" he challenged, pushing between the bristling front of Autobot weaponry.

Skywarp stood, unsteadily, and backed off a step or two, in a half-crouch, fists up. "Might not have any guns but I'll still kick your aft if you come any nearer, Auto-dork," he threatened.

The weapons specialist was familiar enough with _bluster_ when he saw it. "Yeah? Then get on with it, Decepticreep, I don't have all day," he said, still advancing, calling the teleport's bluff.

Skywarp backed off another step. "I'll do it! I swear! Don't you come any closer, you rusty old bag of spare parts, you'll regret it!"

"That's a risk I'm willing to take." Ironhide spread his hands. "Look. I'm unarmed, too. We got ourselves an even playing field! So where's the hold up, oh fearless enemy?"

"I'm not gonna hurt my chances by killing an old guy like _you_," Skywarp defended his position, but had got his legs up against an outcrop and couldn't go any further backwards, was having to work his way sideways instead.

"Well, either _you _throw the first punch, or I do," Ironhide threatened. "Because I tell you, you ain't getting past me without paint from my knuckles on yer faceplates."

Skywarp dithered for a fraction of a second too long, and next thing he saw was the back of a set of knuckles, coming very _very_ quickly towards his face. "Oh _shi-_!"

"Tch. You turkeys are all noise an' no substance," Ironhide pointed out, dryly, standing over the groaning dark shape in the dirt by his feet. "All right, playtime's over, I figure. Gonna walk, or do I have to carry you?"

"…my nose is _never _gonna be the same again…"

"Fine. I figure it's going to have to be 'carry', then."

Impolite snickers and an array of pointing fingers followed them all the way down the Ark's main corridor. It was hugely undignified and Skywarp's optics blazed a furious crimson at the humiliation of being slung like a naughty sparkling over the big Autobot's shoulder, but he knew he wouldn't be able to get himself free and was forced to resort to ineffectual fist-swinging and name calling.

"Put me down! You hear me, you outmoded old mobile scrapheap?! Put me down!" Skywarp battered his fists against Ironhide's back, flailing his thrusters, but the old Autobot ignored his violence.

"Aw, hush your yap, Decepticon," Ironhide drawled, unimpressed, passing the threshold into their sullenly orange-coloured brig. "You wanted asylum, you're gonna get it – under _our_ terms."

"That's not how it's supposed to work…! Lemme down, _now_!"

"Suits me." Ironhide simply dropped his shoulder, and Skywarp tumbled off into the cell, landing on his aft in an ungainly heap. "You can cool your afterburners there for a while," the big Autobot instructed, coldly, palming the control panel and activating the bars; they fizzed briefly violet as the field came up. "We'll decide what to do with your worthless carcass later, when we find a spare breem or two."

"Wait, wait! You can't leave me in here…" Skywarp staggered to the bars, but Ironhide had already turned away. "You can't leave me in here! I asked for asylum, _you can't just leave me in here!!_" He leaned just a fraction too closely up to the bars in his effort to see where Ironhide was going, and the field that enveloped them sizzled painfully against his derma, shoved him backwards like a physical blow to the spark-casing.

"The fact you _asked_ doesn't mean we're gonna _give_ it, creep," Ironhide's voice filtered back over his shoulder, dismissively. "So you can either _shush_ or _be_ shushed. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it," Skywarp husked to himself, plopping his weight hard down onto his berth. _Smooth move, Warp. You've just gone from one cell to another, and this one's even _smaller.

Once their medic had satisfied himself their unexpected 'guest' wasn't significantly the worse for Ironhide's violence, they left him mostly to his own devices. There was a steady trickle of curious Autobots for the first cycle or so, including the twin terrors on several occasions (it seemed they just wanted to remind him they were there), but even that soon stopped when they worked out he was too tired to manage a suitably spirited response to their baiting.

They still hadn't given him any energon – their medic said he'd need his fuel-handling system thoroughly cleaned out, first, or the purified fuel would probably crystallise in his pumps and jam them up completely – but then Skywarp wasn't bothered. The luxury of a well-built hookup into their electrical grid was all he wanted. It was dry, in here, the temperature was good and stable, there was a ready supply of good clean power, and he actually – Primus above – in spite of the cell, he felt kinda _safe_.

After destroying part of his wall, to get just enough extra cable on the charging hookups to allow him to move freely around his cell, he settled down. He parked himself as close to the bars as he could get, slotting his wing out between them and into the main area, having already satisfied himself the security field was fairly localised around the bars themselves, and made himself comfortable. Optimus could take all the time he liked making his decision, so long as they left him in peace. He engaged his recharge protocols, and felt systems slowly tick over and offline.

Voices drifted to him from a distance, as consciousness dwindled down and faded out, and he smiled bitterly at the way his cortex was spitting sensor ghosts at him.

"…Day! Day, Ausep!"

"Now, didn't I tell you he was here, Button?

"We go see? Say hellos?"

"He's very tired right now, Lucy. We'll come back and see him once he's had time to get a bit of power back into his relays."

"But-… want to see him _now_."

"And I told you, _no_. Do you like it when people climb on you when you're tired? No?... then let's give him some peace for now…"

The voices dwindled away into metallic echoes, distorted beyond the point of understanding. _Pay 'em __all__ back, if it's the last thing I do_, Skywarp resolved, distractedly, before the tether linking his conscious mind with his body was finally snipped, and he sank into a dreamless silence.

0o0o0o0o0

Still traipsing his slow way through the woods, Starscream had found a variety of roads, on his travels, but none until now had provided him with the sort of traffic he wanted. The thoroughfare he now lurked alongside looked to be some sort of logging road – not busy, but well-kept and served by a steady stream of noisy lorries, loaded down with trailers full of treetrunks. Three had passed him in the space of five breems, all bearing the same scuffed company livery, and he could see the approaching headlights of a fourth already twinkling in the distance.

He stepped out into the middle of the road, and held up his hand, boldly. "Halt!"

The unfortunate driver looked torn between attempting to run him off the road and veering out of the way, and finally made his decision to try and get out of the way when it was far too late to safely navigate around the Seeker blocking the road. He swerved sideways and straight into a ditch, coming to rest against a cluster of stout trees.

"Please don't hurt me, oh _please _don't hurt me, I ain't never done anything to any of yers, please don't hurt me-!" the driver pleaded, frantically, watching as the pale legs limped into his field of view.

"Silence, human!" Starscream bent down in front of the vehicle's cab, ensuring his elbows remained bent and his weaponry pointing away, and stared in at the driver. "I will not harm you," he explained, using his best no-nonsense tone of voice, "provided you assist me."

"Wh-… wh-… what-…" Although the human's vocal processor seemed to have got stuck, his cigarette was still neatly trapped between his lips. Strange priorities, these biologicals had.

"Is that understood?" the damaged Seeker coaxed.

"Yuh-you want me to huh-help you?" the driver stammered.

"That is correct. I require transport."

"Buh-but I don't have-… I can't, I don't have-"

"The trailer for your vehicle is an adequate size for my use. I simply need a driver."

"But I've got to get these logs to-"

Starscream was losing patience. How the Autobots could interact normally with these snivelling little wet pink bits of squish was becoming increasingly incomprehensible. "If you value your continued functioning, human, you will assist me," he ground out, narrowing his optics; the human cowered under the crimson glow. "Is this also understood?"

The human gave one single convulsive nod, and finally dropped the cigarette into his lap. "Yessir, yessir-!" he yelped, scrabbling for the hot ember that was making a valiant effort at burning his thigh. "Just please don't hurt me-!"

"Provided you don't attempt to play me false, human, you have nothing to fear from me right now." Starscream backed away, ensuring the truck remained in the ditch and the door closed so the shaken human couldn't think of making a dash for freedom while his back was turned.

The lorry's trailer was full of logs, but they were all precariously held in place by a couple of lengths of chain. A quick dab of heat from his cannons melted out a link, and the logs all subsided with a groaning rumble into the ditch. Getting the truck _out_ of the ditch took more work – it left him groaning with effort, applying the front of his shoulder to the cab and _heaving_ hard enough that his own structure creaked in sympathy, but eventually they were all back on the smooth asphalt of the forest road.

"So, uh… where d'you wuh-wanna go?" the driver asked, shakily, leaning out of the window to peer back at his unwanted passenger. The engine was miraculously undamaged after the cab's rough meeting with the tree, and the lorry purred sweetly when he gently revved it.

"Anywhere with a radio transmitter," Starscream instructed, settling himself awkwardly on the flat trailer, linking one of the least damaged bits of chain carefully across his waist to form a loose but effective 'seatbelt'. "Where exactly that is I will leave up to you, human, but the closer it is to _here_, the sooner we will be out of each other's lives."

0o0o0o0o0

It was purely a felicitous coincidence, but Skywarp was disturbed out of recharge by a spike in the electrical system just in time to hear something that dramatically lifted his mood. He first grumbled at the discomfort the excess charge had caused to his systems, folding his arms and hunching his shoulders and trying to slouch into a more comfortable position against his wall, but before he could key his dormancy protocols back in, he heard something that made him jerk his head back up.

Somewhere in the distance, he could hear voices. They were too far away to discern any of the words without upping the sensitivity on his hearing, but that wasn't what attracted his attention – it hadn't taken him very long at all to notice there were _aaalways_ Autobots muttering and whining in the background. No, what snagged his attention was the tone of voice.

…One had a sort of gruff femininity about it, thunderous and sort of scolding, at the moment. The other was higher, thinner, squeakily irritable, and there was the warning _pip_ of a siren – a sort of let-me-have-my-way-or-I'll-shout-my-sirens-properly pip.

…Lucy.

Recharging forgotten, charging cables discarded without a second thought, Skywarp _hurled_ himself at the bars. Apparently, Autobot prisons were even less well-built than Decepticon ones, because they didn't seem to enjoy having several tons of frantic Seeker repeatedly crashing into them. The first impact and return _kick _from the security field hurled Skywarp clean across his cell, but he was not one for simply giving up (or perhaps just too fraught to consider it). On the second impact, a bar fractured, and the power went out; whooping alarms took its place instead. On the fourth assault, the bars gave up altogether, spilling the teleport out onto the floor. He was already running for the doors before he was even all the way back onto his feet, leaving a trail of sparks as his thrusters skidded against the floor underneath him.

His escape hadn't gone unnoticed, especially with the raucous drilling of the alarm, but the Autobots looked to be having difficulty coming to an appropriate response. He bolted past the gormless cluster heading in his direction down the corridor like a streak of black lightning.

"Hey!"

"How did he get out?!"

"Stop him!"

Skywarp ignored the voices and fled down the corridor, homing in on the sounds. If he was right, if this wasn't just more sensor ghosts-… if he was _right_, this could mean Screamer and TC were still alive too! Frag, they could _all_ be alive! Everyone!

"Day?" a tiny, distant voice wondered.

Skywarp skidded around a corner and smack into Ironhide.

"Hey, _hey, _who let you out?" the old Autobot wondered, sufficiently startled to be momentarily incapable of a reaction as Skywarp literally climbed _over_ him in his urgency.

"Just grabhim, 'Hide…!"

At last, enough of them had recovered their wits to actually _do_ something about the rampaging Seeker. As Ironhide made a convulsive _snatch_ for a trailing thruster, another three of Skywarp's pursuers caught up with him and piled on.

"Keep hold of him-!"

"Don't let him near them-"

"Surgeon, what are you doing? Get back!"

"Primus, if he gets hold of the little one-"

"Can't let him, he'll take her straight to Megatron!"

"Jazz, keep them back!"

Words swirled together into a maelstrom of unfriendly noise – keep him down, keep him back, keep him restrained and useless, hard words flavoured with incomprehensible Autobot slang, which only served to heighten the Decepticon's struggling.

It was like trying to keep hold of an eel. Skywarp kept up his energetic struggle until he had almost three times his own weight in Autobots pinning him down, crushing him down against the _Ark_'s painfully-solid floor.

"Ow ow _ow_," he yelped, trying to get his arm out of where it had got jammed in a painful fold under his wing, but no luck. He clawed his free hand over the deck, succeeding only in drawing a set of vibrant purple finger-gouges through the sullen orange alloy. "Get off, that hurt-… _ow!_"

"Quick, get that on him-"

"Why, what'll it-"

"Just do it! Before he manages to teleport out from under here-!"

He felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck, like clawed fingers digging into his main transmission column, but it rapidly faded… and along with it went all the power in his body. He was just about aware of his knees bowing inwards, and his fingers sagging flat against the deck…

His last sight before his vision greyed into static and then went out altogether was of a small figure approaching at a trot, completely unafraid, arms outstretched.

"…Day!" a tiny voice chirped, excitedly.

Skywarp managed the faintest of smiles and felt her tiny fingers close on his hand, before the very last erg of power left his system and his head connected with the floor.


	13. Chapter 12

**Warped - Chapter Twelve**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** Bit of a wordy-but-needed nothing-chapter. :hrf: Things will hopefully resume being interesting again soon.

I have a slightly spoilery little bit of fluff to go along with this, as well:

keaalu . livejournal . com / 200173 . html (Just need to remove the spaces)

Didn't have anywhere in the main storyline to put it, because there's only SO much saccharine-nonsense a girl can cram in without teeth falling out. Besides, I'm having trouble keeping the action going without gluing up the works with silliness. ;)

Anyway. Onward!

* * *

"Uh, Boss? Uhh, that is… you know that it's not gonna change the more you watch it, right?"

Megatron turned to face the voice that had piped hesitantly up at his feet, and glared silently down at Rumble for so long that the cassette actually flinched back in anticipation of a blow when the warlord finally spoke. "I'm trying to work out exactly what the former resident idiot is trying to achieve," he growled, watching as the purple blip on the screen once again drew its haphazard trace across the map of the United States. "Maybe _you_'d be better suited to imagining yourself in his position. Perhaps it takes an idiot to understand an idiot."

Rumble kept his vocaliser offline; he sensed his superior was only looking for an excuse to give him a kick, and insubordination would probably be enough to do it. If _he_ were Megatron, he'd probably be looking for an excuse to boot him a good one, as well, the cassette reasoned, charitably. It had left him and Frenzy feeling somewhat deflated to realise "their" master plan to get Skywarp out had all been orchestrated by Megatron anyway, and they'd been the source of more problems than usual as a result.

Instead, Rumble watched the screen – like some sort of drunken butterfly, Skywarp's purple dot wiggled first _up_ across the screen to the space bridge, roughly following Starscream's ill-fated flight-path, then it skittered all the way back down the west coast. It paused very briefly, then set off back _up_ the coast, taking an even more haphazard path than last time, before finally halting in the north.

"Well, _this _idiot thinks it's pretty obvious that _he_ can't find 'em either," Rumble pointed out, bravely, folding his arms.

"If you are trying to make a point, Rumble, I would do it when you are out of my range of fire," Megatron grumbled, darkly, and watched out of the very margin of his vision as the cassette inched another couple of steps away backwards.

"Um… right, Boss. I was, ah… just making an observation."

Megatron _hrf_-ed quietly, and rested his chin on one hand, elbow propped on the console. "Still. It pains me that I need to agree with you," he accepted, ungraciously. "I've stared at this screen for so long I convinced myself I must be missing something, but I think it genuinely is that simple. All that plotting they seemed to be doing, you'd think they had a better contingency plan for the moment Skywarp sent it to the Pit." He pinched the bridge of his nose and cycled cold air through his vents, irritably.

"You know, we _could _always go fetch 'em back," Rumble suggested, warily. "Pretend this was all part of the plan, teach 'em a lesson, remind 'em where they stand, and all that."

"I don't think that will be so easy to achieve as you think," Megatron sighed. "That there?" He touched one large finger to the blip on the screen. "Is Autobot headquarters."

Rumble was silent for several long moments. "You think he's defected?"

"I'm not sure _what_ he's done." Megatron shook his head. "And knowing him, neither does he! I'm more inclined to think he's gone too close and been arrested, but then Skywarp was never famous for his predictability."

The purple blip in the Autobot base hadn't moved at all for a while - not even the jittery fidget it had been doing at the start, around the few square metres that presumably indicated a cell - which wasn't reassuring. If the idiot had gone and got himself killed, they'd have to go about trying to find the sparklings the hard way, and this accursed mud-ball was big enough that they could end up running in circles for vorns and still not find them.

Once Rumble had finally lost interest and left, Megatron turned his attention to the comms screen. A message had come in some time ago, on a Decepticon carrier signal using a cipher so old the silver giant couldn't remember it having been used in hundreds of vorns, and very old-fashioned – it had actually been _written_, rather than the usual coded _ping_ or vocal communiqué. He'd already read it three times, and while it had piqued his curiosity, he wasn't yet sure how far he wanted to investigate – the supposed 'thing of value' was unlikely to actually _be_ valuable. Just finding the sender and giving them a walloping for wasting his time seemed more useful.

Megatron thumbed the message pane open again, and debated sending one of the Coneheads out on reconnaissance.

"_Greetings, Mighty Megatron_," he read, for the fourth time. (Predictably, no new details revealed themselves.) "_I approach you with an offer. I possess something of value which may be of interest to your good self. Please respond on this frequency so we may discuss terms. Respectfully, S_."

0o0o0o0o0

His little blob of world had changed, when Skywarp finally began to come around. He lay on his back, all his ventral armour opened up, and the crushing weight of Autobots on his wings had vanished. There was a strange, distracted sort of pain down his open chassis, as well – as if he'd been given a shot of painkiller, but not a big one and it was wearing off. Maybe they hadn't anticipated he'd be waking up yet? Must have decided to use that period of enforced stasis to start to get his pumps cleaned out. _Oww_.

His worldview might have changed, but the unfriendly voices hadn't – although they seemed to be arguing with each other, this time. He decided that remaining shamming unconsciousness was the best option for now. If they noticed him waking up, they might change their mind and decide to take things back up with him. Giving them the excuse to try 'jet judo' while his chassis was all opened up like this sounded like a _spectacularly_ bad idea!

"So let me get this straight," a voice challenged, over the general hubbub. Sounded like the yellow half of those damn twins. (Well, _he_ could just go smelt himself, for starters!) "You, in your _infinite_ wisdom, think it would be a good idea for us to let the single most defenceless creature in the entire base to _stay_ with the one _most _likely to cause her harm?!"

"Sure. Why not? She seems pretty happy to stay where she's chosen to be," a far more easygoing voice replied, smoothly. "I mean, _I _can hear her purring from all the way over here – if _you_ can't, maybe you better get Ratch to check on _your_ audios once he's done with our guest."

_Ah, so __that__ must be what that strange buzzing noise was,_ Skywarp reasoned, inwardly.

"But that's… just-… come _on_, Jazz, that's just _stupid_! That there? If you'd forgotten? Is a _Decepticon_. And that sitting in his hand is a _sparkling_. Probably not even a full solar cycle old yet, so how you think she's old enough to make a rational, educated decision about these things is _quite_ beyond me. And _you_ think we should just let him _keep her_?!"

"Well she _is _his sparkling, if you were forgetting."

"The idea of a Decepticon finding someone willing to _procreate _with them is something I will personally _never_ forget. It will remain seared onto my memory plates like a solar brand for the rest of eternity." Pause. "Those Decepticreep femmes must be getting pretty desperate to choose _this_ raggedy bunch of bolts to spark off."

"Actually, as I understand it…" There was a momentary hesitation. "I think Skywarp's partner in creation was an Autobot."

The silence didn't last very long, but it was so cloyingly thick, you couldn't have cut it with a laser scalpel. When it finally ended, it was like someone had set off a sonic grenade, with every single protesting voice in the entire damn room (and there were a lot of them) struggling to make itself heard over everyone else.

The aggressive voice cut through the hubbub with the stridency of a fire alarm. "You mean to say… what?! They're not content with just attacking and killing _us_ now, they have to rape our femmes as well?!"

One of the mechs helping clean him must have seen Skywarp's wince at the description, because a steadying hand dropped lightly to the upper margin of his good wing, and brushed a thumb lightly across a sensitive seam, soothingly. _Easy, Warp, _he told himself._ You're still unconscious, remember?_

"Hey, _hey_, that wasn't what I said!" the more easygoing of the original two voices was already protesting, urgently. "I didn't say there was anything non-consensual about it!"

"Right, because _all_ our femmes are just _queuing _to fling themselves at _that _airheaded terror of the sky!"

"The fact the little ones were _accidental_," a moderate – and familiar! – female voice added, to the jumble of confused voices, "does _not_ mean either is the product of violence."

"Yeah, but of course _you're_ gonna say that, femme," Aggressive spat. "I'm almost willing to put credits on the idea that you _helped_."

"Of course I helped! Just not in the way _you _apparently mean. Look, hard though it may be for you to understand, the only criminal act involved in Lucy's creation was the fact her creators were too _stupid_ to use the appropriate baffles when they went sharing sparks." There was a faint grumble of displeasure from a powerful engine. "But I'm not going to argue about this with you, any more. Yelling isn't going to change your mind, and I'm guessing a swift punch where it hurts isn't going to smack much common sense in, either."

"Just you try it, _spy_." An equally-powerful engine revved back, meaningfully. "You go for me, and I'll make sure you end up in… the-… Eh? Jazz, what in Pit are you doing?"

"Mmm? Oh, don't mind me," Easygoing replied, offhand, and there was the sound of pages being turned. "I'm just trying to find the part of the rulebook that says we can't leave sparklings with their creators, so don't let me distract you from your argument!."

"Ha ha, Jazz, funny. It's the same part of the rulebook that says we don't leave defenceless, valuable things with _sociopath Decepticreeps_!" Beat, different tactic. "Surely even you understand that it's hardly fair on her to leave her in _his_ so-called 'care'. The dice are already loaded against her because of who created her, you want to let her be put more at risk of being corrupted into some mini-Megatron by leaving her withhim?"

"Well, it doesn't look much like he's corrupted her yet." Pause, hmm. "If anything, I'd say _she_ was corrupting _him_."

There was an uneasy ripple in response to that which _almost_ sounded like reluctant agreement.

"I mean," Easygoing moved to secure his advantage. "How many times have we had Decepticons actually genuinely ask us for _clemency_, then… well, I guess he's _kinda _behaving himself, right? Even if he _did_ put bootprints on Ironhide."

"Unless he's behaving himself so he can lull us into a false sense of security, and steal her away the instant he's left unattended with her," Aggressive pointed out, grimly.

"So we leave 'em together, but make sure there's always someone about to keep an eye on them. Seems a pretty easy solution to me. Right?"

"I concur with Jazz," a deep voice agreed, softly, from one side. "To forcibly separate them now would only be destructive – to _both _of them."

"But _Optimus_-!"

"This is my _final _decision on the matter, Sunstreaker. Footloose has chosen where she wants to be, and I have no intention of denying her, in this instance." Beat. "And yes, I do believe that she knows him well enough to make an _educated decision_."

"She can't even _talk_ properly, yet!!"

It took every last ounce of self-control for Skywarp not to start to _snicker_ at the pure outrage in Sunstreaker's tone of voice.

"How can you _possibly_ think she's _old enough_ to decide it's _safe_ to stay with _him_?"

"The mere _word_ 'Decepticon' should send a sparkling running in terror," Optimus pointed out. "The fact she is quite happily sitting with him – indeed, elected to go and sit with him all of her own conscious volition – suggests to me she knows that _she_ has nothing to fear from him. The fact she is young and inexperienced does not by necessity mean she is stupid."

"You're clearly forgetting who she's related to. _Stupid_ runs in the family," Aggressive complained, quietly, then elevated his voice and added; "I suppose you believe that ridiculous sob story about wanting asylum, as well."

"As a matter of fact, I do. The fact all three Seekers are down suggests to me that something significant has happened in the Decepticon hierarchy – and I mean more significant than the usual power squabbles at the top. And I'm guessing if we look hard enough? We'll find out that this little one is the root cause of it."

"That, or it's all a big trick and you've oh-so-helpfully obliged them by _swallowing_ it." The whine was petulant, however; Sunstreaker had lost the argument, and didn't like it.

"All right, you lot, I'm done listening to you," came the instruction, from very close by. "Out. Now. You can growl at each other all you like so long as it's not in my medical bay. I'm trying to work."

"-on a _Decepticon_!"

"It may surprise you to hear that I was already aware of that fact, Sunstreaker, now get _out_."

"_OW!_ All right, I'm going, I'm going, quit throwing things, already!" The yellow twin's voice faded as he moved into the corridor. "You lot might want to try and remember what the slag Decepticon _means_, before it comes back to bite you all on the afts! Your little patient you're all so happily mollycoddling isn't a freaking _pet_. He'll turn around and run you through with your own surgical lance, given half the chance…"

His words finally faded into distant incoherence. Skywarp had to restrain the urge to sigh in relief – now if only they'd give him some more analgesia, he'd be quite happy to just lay here shamming stasis.

"Sunny _does _have a point, Optimus," the medic counselled, softly. "You and I both know that this may only be a temporary change of heart, because a cute infant might not be enough to change thousands of vorns of animosity. And what happens when he decides he's bored of her, because being a parent isn't so new and exciting any more? Do you trust him not to simply hand her over to Megatron?" Sigh. "She'd at least be guaranteed a safe existence staying with us."

"Safe? Mm, perhaps," Optimus' deep voice rumbled softly from a little closer. "Indoctrinated? Absolutely."

"Is it so bad to 'indoctrinate' her in the Autobot way of thinking?"

They obviously didn't realise he was listening in; Skywarp offlined his vocaliser altogether to keep himself from protesting. _How frigging __dare__ they even __suggest__-…_

"If she grows up as a Decepticon, all she'll know is violence and treachery from the outset," the doctor continued. "At least we'd give her a good grounding to make her own decisions on what is _right_ and what is _wrong_. If after that she chooses to join Skywarp's side? Well… I suppose at least it'd be something _she'd _chosen, not something she'd been forced into."

Optimus was quiet for a moment or two. "I don't know that I can justify bringing her up as an Autobot, Ratchet," he admitted, softly. "Because that would only lead her to think of half her family as the enemy, something to be feared. I don't think I could forgive myself if I knowingly tried to generate hate in her, especially towards one of her creators."

"Isn't 'something to be feared' exactly what Decepticons _are_? Even to each other! To start with, I doubt there's many machines that aren't scared of Megatron – I can only think of one, offhand, and then I'm not sure he's so much _brave_ as just unable to keep his vocaliser on a leash."

_Must be talking about Screamer. If only they knew!_

"There's a time I would have agreed wholeheartedly with you," Optimus said, tiredly. "But recent events have reminded me of something we've lost sight of. Behind the faction? We're all just people, who have had to make distasteful choices to stay alive in a war we all want only to _end_."

"Some of those 'people' you're trying to stick up for were designed and built exclusively for that war," Ratchet reminded, quietly. "And have spent almost their entire existences fighting against our freedom. The freedom that _you_ believe in, above all else!"

"Freedom is not always simply from slavery and oppression." Optimus' voice was already moving away. "Sometimes it is the freedom to become the person you choose to be, not the person society instructs you to be, that is the greater blessing. And you know? Part of me thinks that it would be beneficial in the long run if some war-built Decepticons were allowed that."

This time, Ratchet remained silent, and the irritating, painful touches on the valves of Skywarp's primary fuel pump had slowed right down.

"I know our fellow Autobots will take some persuading to believe it," Optimus went on, in the silence, "but I think this little one might be the shakeup we need to trigger an end to the stupidity that's caught our entire species up for so long. She's demonstrated that we're not so intractably different as we've believed for so long. And the effort Skywarp went to just to get to her? I think there's even hope for him, yet! And I think they should be allowed to remain together."

"I stay here, Atchet," a little voice agreed, from very close by. "Stay with Day."

"Well, she's certainly shaken things up thus far," Ratchet agreed. "But I couldn't tell you if I agreed with the sentiment. She might ultimately have just rearranged the factions a little. But…" He vented a soft sigh. "I'll abide by your judgement. And hers."

"I knew I could count on your support, Ratchet. Now if you'll excuse me, it sounds like I have a riot to help Prowl quell…"

After the shuffle of feet had finally dwindled to nothing, there was a moment of silence, and the soft exhale of stale, frustrated air from tired vents. "You better make this worth my while, Skywarp," a long-suffering voice commented, as if its owner was talking to himself. "Because I swear, if you go and bugger off the instant I'm done cleaning you, I _will_ hunt you down and make your life _twice_ as hard as Megatron ever could-"

"…won't go anywhere if you gimme more painkiller, doctor," Skywarp observed, softly, letting his optics finally come online. "Because this is kinda hugely uncomfortable…"

"Oh, hey." The chevroned face of their chief medic hove blurrily into view. "You're not supposed to be awake yet."

"…that much was… _khn_, was obvious…" Skywarp groaned, faintly, shifting his back feebly against the padded surface he lay on. "You'd have been less rude if you knew I was listening." He could see his distorted reflection in one of the overhead light reflectors; his canopy had been carefully removed altogether and laid to one side, and his chest turbines had been folded outward against his wings. "…_oww_…"

Ratchet had already got back to work; he was busy with one of the minor relays, carefully using something rather like a large solvent-dipped cotton-bud to clean the remainder of the residue off the pump's valves. "Well, you know, if you'd just pushed your pride to one side and come straight to us, you wouldn't be so gunked up in here, and I wouldn't have had to open you up to get you clean."

"Yeah, because you wouldn't have shot me clean out of the sky, or anything."

"Honestly? If you'd broadcast the appropriate signals, and requested asylum in the same way? Probably not. Even if you still ended up in the brig afterwards, you'd at least be in the brig and _comfortable_. And not… gah, not covered in all this smelt-waste!" Ratchet threw up his hands in annoyance. "Honestly, I'm halfway inclined to just let the twins dump you in a solvent bath and hit you with the ultrasound, but I know it'd still all go to the Pit. I have no desire to completely replace your temperature regulator when you manage to flood it with solvent."

"Psh." Skywarp made a face, and went back to studying his new surroundings. Both arms were stuck out to one side, across his wings, but one was folded at the elbow, pressed up against something that was vibrating – managing to direct his gaze sideways he found Footloose sitting at the crook of his elbow, with his arm folded up around her and his fingers tucked down over her shoulder, against her winglets, her small hands holding the digits carefully in place.

She caught his gaze, and wiggled her fingers _hello _at him. "Day." She was still humming her pleased little harmonic hard enough to make her dermal plating vibrate.

"This is a very restrained greeting from you, isn't it?" Skywarp observed, amusedly, as she wiggled her way sideways along his wing until she was up against his shoulder vent, making his plating buzz quietly as well.

"Don't you believe it. She's already given you your obligatory mauling," a familiar, deep voice commented, and an upside down face with golden optics hove into view in the top margin of his vision. "You were just unconscious during most of it."

"I _thought _that was you I could hear, Sepp," His muted optics lit up, involuntarily. "And you're not dead!"

"Apparently not." She gave him a small, sardonic smile. "Not going to tell me you were worried about your least favourite Neutral, are you? Head sideways."

"Oh, psh. I was more worried about how I was gonna tell Hack you'd got squished," he defended himself, leaning his head sideways so she could get to one of his cranial relays to give him the requested painkiller. "Without _him_ walloping the almighty out of _me_."

"You know _I'm_ the one most likely to do any 'walloping'," Forceps reminded, with a smile.

"Never a point I would dispute," he agreed, lifting a finger, "but he _is_ bigger than you, and could hit me _harder_. And there's always a chance I'll get him _that_ mad…"

"Harline not make Day go flat," a little voice demurred, and alert little blue-green optics peered down at their upside-down parent. "Harline is Police! Hit is against laws," Footloose explained, earnestly, then picked up a cotton bud. "I help Atchet make clean."

"Not this time, Lucy," Ratchet demurred. "You'll only make a mess, and I don't want solvent where it shouldn't be."

"I be careful. I help!" Her little hand was already reaching for the narrow tube of cleaning fluid.

"I told you, not now," Ratchet repeated, carefully moving it just out of reach. "Maybe later."

"Not later, make help now!" Her optics flashed irritably.

"You won't make _help_, you'll make _mess_," Forceps corrected, leaning down over the smaller femme's head and plucking the cotton bud out of her fingers.

"Want to help make Day clean!" Footloose squeaked, and _peeped_ her siren, grumpily.

"Hey, _hey_! What's the rule about using your beeper indoors?" Forceps scolded.

Footloose put on her best _but-I'm-FAR-too-adorable-to-be-told-off_ face, and gave her mentor a sweet, inoffensive look out of huge optics. "I what rule?"

Forceps narrowed her gaze. "Nobody thinks it's clever for you to be naughty." She gave Skywarp a very pointed look. "Not even Day."

Footloose looked immediately over to her sire, who had managed to achieve a very thunderous frown (in place of the previous delighted grin at how wilful his offspring was). She pouted, sulkily, and folded her arms. "Not make beeper indoors," she replied, sullenly. "Still want to make help."

Forceps sighed. "All right, looks like I have to explain things better again. Excuse us a minute, Warp," she apologised, picking the sparkling up and setting her on her shoulder like a surreal parrot. "Now. Look here. What's this?" She pointed down at one of the relay valves in the Seeker's open chest cavity.

"Is pump," Footloose replied, promptly.

"Right. And what's this?"

Skywarp twitched and tried not to snigger as a blunt finger traced its way along one of his transmission lines.

"Is line of fuel."

"Correct again. Containing what?"

"En'gon!"

"And what must you not do with energon?"

That was _easy_. "Make mess!"

Forceps had to resist the urge to cast her gaze heavenwards. "What _in particular_ should you not do?"

Footloose had to think a little harder about that. "Make spill?"

"Why not?"

"Might make burn and asplode."

"That's right. Now, watch this." Forceps held up the wad of solvent-soaked cotton-wool by its stick, and dabbed one of her heat-lances against it; it gave a quiet _whoomp_ and burned with a bright blue flame for a few seconds, before going out.

"See that?" the surgeon wondered.

"It make burn," Footloose observed, optics going big and round.

"Right. Now." Forceps gave the little femme a very long, serious look. "With all that in mind, what do you think will happen if you get cleaning fluid all around Day's fuel lines, and he overheats while his coolant mesh isn't working?"

Footloose went very quiet and sucked on her fingers.

"So how about we let Ratchet do this without you pestering him?"

Footloose nodded, quietly.

"Good idea." Forceps lifted her down, and spoke quietly, close to her audio; "Tell you what, we'll let you help get Starscream cleaned up when we fetch him in, because I'm sure he'll be filthy."

"…he'll love it," Skywarp added, from his prone position, and affected a similar look of _butter-wouldn't-melt _to the one Footloose had worn a few moments earlier when Forceps glared at him.

"I think I'll make sure I'm absent on that day, because I value my audios in their functioning state," Ratchet deadpanned. "If you want to be helpful right now, Lucy, unless I'm mistaken you've not fed your fish yet today. They're probably getting hungry."

"Hungry Oolies!" Footloose actually sounded quite horrified at the idea, and was gone in a flicker of light.

"So. What happened, Warp?"

The teleport glanced sidelong at the muted golden optics, and shrugged, defensively. "Nothin'. Just the usual stupid arguments. You know how it is with us filthy 'Cons."

"So getting shot out of the sky is the usual outcome of a stupid argument, now? I hate to think what outcome an outright coup would have."

He averted his gaze, and pursed his lips.

"Must have been pretty serious if Megatron decided to kick his most loyal warrior out," Ratchet suggested, carefully. "Doesn't seem like the sort of thing he'd do for you just putting sucrose in his energon."

"He didn't kick me out, I got _myself _out," Skywarp defended himself, having to restrain the urge to fold his arms sulkily while his chest was still gaping to the ceiling… then his optics flickered briefly pinker in shame. "He just, uh… well, dumped me in the brig. Those two little cassette twerps helped get me out. Been looking for Screamer ever since, 'cause guess what, he's lost _again_."

"Maybe he's just trying to get away from _you_," Ratchet suggested, dryly, carefully folding one of his patient's turbines closed and checking the connectors were patent. "One prank too many."

"Hey, Autobot. Do you like that pointy thing on the top of your head?" Skywarp smiled, sweetly. "Because it's _not gonna still be there_, in a minute!"

"You might want to wait until you're back in one piece before indulging too heavily in name-calling." Ratchet glared peevishly down at him through the large scuffed structure made mostly of amber glass he held in his hands. "And you're welcome."

"Welcome to what?"

"Exactly. Next time, you can get yourself clean."

"What is this, 'how to make friends and influence people, the Skywarp way'?" Forceps wondered, intercepting the canopy glass before it could clonk down too hard on Skywarp's nose. "You want them to shuffle you back off to the brig, or something?"

"Like to see them _try_," Skywarp sulked, glaring at the ceiling and letting the surgeon manoeuvre the last piece of his armour back into place on his chest.

"Well, you might want to remember where you are," the big femme counselled, quietly. "They weren't slow to jump on you last time you broke out, and there's a lot more of them than there are of you. And if you want them to let you out to go find Starscream, because I'm guessing that's the only reason you came here? You might want to try and get on their good sides, not spend every free minute catcalling."

Skywarp studied his feet, and elected not to answer.

"All right, well, for now you're clean." Forceps changed the subject, stepping back and letting him sit. "Before you do _anything_, I want to get a look at that wing of yours. I'm surprised you managed to stay airborne with it hanging on like that."

"You shouldn't be so surprised. I'm just _that good_, and you _know_ it." He planted a palm against his chassis, modestly, and winced at an over-tightened relay. "Be nice to be able to transform again," he admitted, more quietly. "I daren't while they said it might fall off."

"I'm surprised it stayed on _this _long," she agreed, grimly. "All right, let me have a word with Ratchet and see if I can borrow a few of his tools. Never thought I'd be doing emergency surgery on any of you three pains-in-the-aft again…"

Skywarp watched her limp away, and pursed his lips. _Physician, heal thyself?_ Although he'd seen her handiwork on Starscream, he wasn't sure he wanted her so close to _him_ with her laser-scalpels when she was still injured herself-

There was the sound of little footsteps from the hallway, and he turned his head to find Footloose finally reappear, a large white basin full of green… _somethings_…clutched like some precious object in her hands.

"_What_ did you say you were doing, you little pest?" Skywarp wondered, redirecting his attention. (He could badger Forceps to within an inch of yelling at him later, he reasoned.)

"Oolies!" Footloose explained, setting her basin onto the sideboard and teleporting herself up after it. "I feed."

"Hrf," he grumbled, levering himself to his feet and wincing at the tension around his newly clean fuel lines. They'd tightened up some loose connectors while they'd been working, and he felt uncomfortably _constricted_. "They've got you doing their pet-care for them?"

She gleefully scattered peas into the tank and watched the spherical fish swim after them as they sank. "Septor says I can look after," she confirmed, demonstrating the pot of vegetables. "These am peas from garden. Oolies eat."

"So… what do they do?" He ambled over, rolling his shoulders and trying to stretch himself comfortable again. "Those… ooly-things."

She gave him a sidelong glance and sucked her fingers, puzzled. "Swim?" she suggested. "And eat. And make colours!" She flickered her optics and got the largest of the fish to flicker back, although most of the shoal had muted their shimmery scales and retreated to the opposite side of the tank, away from the large black object approaching.

"So what do they think you need those for?"

"No, Oolies not mine. Am Septors!"

"Right." Skywarp crouched so his head was level with the worktop the tank rested on, and folded his arms under his chin. "What has _he_ got them for?"

Footloose knew the answer to that one. "For making science."

Skywarp cast his gaze skywards. "And they say _Screamer's _mad…"

0o0o0o0o0

It felt like he'd been out for a lot longer than his chronometer suggested, Thundercracker considered, clawing his unsteady way back to consciousness and fighting off the dormancy that flickered like insects through the different levels of his mind. His chrono said he'd not even been offline for a whole terran orn, but he felt so unashamedly _drained_, so… _muggy_, and _heavy_… it had to have been longer than that. Just had to have been. Perhaps the clock itself had offlined, under the influence of Siphon's chemical witchery.

Predictably, sensory perception was first to return, leaving him muggy _and_ uncomfortable. There were spots of intense pain along the upper margin of what remained of his wings – one on each side, very closer to his shoulder vents. His head was propped precariously against a box or a ledge of some sort, and his arms dangled lifeless at either side, knuckles trailing against the sand of the cell floor. He winced, tried to shift a little of his mass onto one arm so it wasn't suspended between the two spots of pain in his wings, and lifted the other hand to pat gingerly at the hurts.

He found an unyielding, ridged piece of thin metal jutting from the spot of pain, and a jagged edge to the plating where it had been inserted – and after a failed attempt to shift his weight so he lay a little more comfortably, he realised the stake must pass clean through his wing and right into the rock he rested against. He dimmed his optics and groaned softly – stapled down like a giant steel butterfly in a collector's tray.

Someone obviously heard his moan. "Ah, you're awake."

Thundercracker turned his face towards the voice – he was still too drowsy to get his visuals in focus, but the dim amber glow of a familiar pair of optics advancing in his direction was enough to explain exactly who was watching him. "…what are… what are you doing?" he rasped. "…what's… let me-… _nngh_." He shifted his shoulders and made another useless attempt to get up. "…letme… _up_…"

"Ah-ah, can't have you smudging your new outfit before it's dry," the tanker scolded, in that _naughty naughty!_ condescending tone of voice that made his victim wish he'd come close enough that he could give him a kick. Siphon was a quick learner, though, and knew from his dealings with Skywarp that Seekers were just as lethal with their feet as their fists, and he was keeping out of range. "Otherwise I'd just have to start over! And I know you wouldn't want that. Now you be a good boy and go back to sleep."

There was another of those cold touches between the blue Seeker's lips, and he made a spirited effort to fend off his attacker but his clawing fingers connected only with air. There followed another of those blurry periods of confused half-wakefulness – enough sedation to keep him quiescent, and cap the worst of the low _throbbing_ damage warnings, but not _quite_ enough to put him right under. He wandered through a haze of muddled thought, unworkable and incomplete plans for how to get free or contact his wingmates or… or _anything_… And the plaguing incoherence of sensor ghosts, echoed memories that for a time were indistinguishable from reality.

Although it took a while for him to cotton on to the idea this new development was real, not another sensor fault, eventually he became aware of a weight on his chest, and got his optics to come sluggishly back online.

The two blurry little bright purplish-blue smudges in front of him gradually resolved into concerned little optics; Slipstream was bracing himself against his chest, one small hand holding a shoulder-vent for support, the other carefully patting the sensitive area at the inside corner of one of Thundercracker's optics in an effort to get him to respond. "Dacker? Dack? Wake up? Wake up, Dack…"

"…hey, seem," Thundercracker managed; his voice was an unsteady, static-plagued croak. "…you all right? Not hurt?"

The little lights bobbed up and down in a nod. "Am okay," the sparkling confirmed, quietly, sliding back to the floor. "Dacker hurt bad?"

"Just sleepy," Thundercracker lied; his wings hurt pretty badly, but then he reasoned it wasn't half as bad as it had been to get the wingtip sliced clean off. "I'll be okay. Where's Ama?"

"Ama not here." Slipstream shook his head, sadly. "Went with Siphon."

"Very long ago?"

"Nine breems and a bit," Slipstream confirmed.

That'd have been just before he came along to top up his sedation, Thundercracker reasoned.

"Deuce bring energon," Slipstream added, changing the subject. "Dacker want?"

Thundercracker managed a smile. "Maybe later. But thank you."

Slipstream fidgeted for a little while, which wasn't normal for him. So far during their incarceration, he'd usually sit quietly and watch the world, soaking it all up and remembering every tiny detail, but _fidgeting_ usually meant there was something on his mind.

"Seem?" Thundercracker asked, at last, softly. "Something the matter?"

"Yes. Is matter, but is not _bad_ matter," Slipstream explained, hesitantly, crawling carefully back up the bigger machine's chassis and speaking quietly into his audio. "Siphon not to hear, will take away, but look. Deuce give it. Said it not work now, but if nanites put in it and make fixed, can give signal to Day and Star. They can come get, make rescue!"

Thundercracker looked down into the small dark palm, and found a scuffed but intact little communications wafer.


	14. Chapter 13

**Warped - Chapter Thirteen**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** Another wordy one. Hrf. :\

Thank you all again for your lovely reviews and things. :)

I am HOPING to get a couple more doodles up on my devART before Christmas is over. :) But if I don't, I hope you all have a good one. ;)

* * *

"All right, Warp. Park your aft here," Forceps gestured to the berth the teleport had got up off earlier, now it was free of all the cleaning detritus, "and let's get a look at your wing."

Skywarp gave her a suspicious look and folded his arms. "You want to look at _my_ wing when _you're_ still limping?" he complained. "How about physician, _heal thyself_, first-"

"_Sit_," she repeated, more firmly, and he _tch_-ed and cast his gaze heavenwards… but did as told. "And don't slouch like that."

"Would you like me to _salute_, as well?" he sniped.

"If you think it would help, and if it means you're _quiet_, go right ahead."

Skywarp _hrf_-ed and managed to sit still and quiet for all of a quarter of a breem. "How long do you suppose it'll take to fix?" he wondered, craning his neck to try and see what she was doing.

"Well, that's what I'm trying to find out – if you'll sit still and let me get on! Now stop twisting round, you're setting all your plates out of alignment."

"I _am_ sitting still, what more do you need?" he challenged, hurt, and turned to face front again, sulkily. "Maybe I should just shut myself down, would _that_ meet with your approval?"

"Day unhappy?" Footloose wondered, finally having lost interest in her fish, scaling his leg so she could sit in his lap.

"Day _grumpy_," Forceps filled in, before Skywarp could answer. "Maybe you'll have better luck getting him to sit still, he seems to listen to you."

"Why Day to sit still?" Footloose had already climbed up to Skywarp's left shoulder, and gazed down at where Forceps was working. "Aunnie Ausep to make better?"

"She's trying to," the surgeon confirmed, tiredly, and turned her attention back to Skywarp. "Sorry, Warp. Looks like the whole thing's going to have to come back off."

"What?" He almost fell right off the berth in alarm, sending Footloose tumbling, and gawped at the big femme for a second or two. "How about you just frag off?! You're not taking my wing off!"

Forceps gestured a hand, irritably. "Your 'wing' is such a mess of weld and bad connectors, it's hardly worthy of the definition. If you ever want to transform again? It's got to come off so I can pare it all back down to clean substructure and rebuild it."

"But I don't want you to take it off," he whined, only too aware how juvenile he sounded. "Can't you do it bit by bit, and leave it on there?"

She sighed. "Well, yes, I probably could," she accepted. "But you'd have to remain grounded for the duration of it, it'd more than likely be painful, _and _slow going – I'm talking several orns, minimum – and I know firsthand how _patient_ you are."

Skywarp looked torn; he fidgeted for a moment, chewing his lip. "How quick could you do it if you took it off?"

"Provided Ratchet has the parts I need? An orn, maybe two at the longest."

"All right." He settled back down on the berth, and sat on his hands to keep from fidgeting; Footloose used the temporary stillness to climb back to his shoulder, clicking anxiously at him. "All right. If I didn't want to fly again as much as I do, I'd totally not be letting you do this," he defended himself, as his sparkling rubbed cheeks with him. "So just… get on with it, already?"

She patted his shoulder, and sneakily gave him another shot of painkiller. "I'll make it as painless as I can."

"…right."

Painless it might have been. _Sensationless _it wasn't. Rather than the sharp burn of a laser scalpel simply cutting through the plating, it was an irritating sort of _pickpickpick _sensation as she worked her way carefully down, slowly releasing clips and catches and disengaging plates and unplugging microcables and crimping off fuel lines. He wasn't sure which he preferred. At least if it hurt, he could have ground his denta together and ridden it out. This was like… was like… just… _waiting_ for it to _start_ to hurt. Any minute now it'd go from pickpick to _owowfriggingow _and he'd give her an involuntary punch around the chops and get her boot in his chest for the trouble and-

"All right, that's it."

There was a sensation of weird lopsidedness and he had to put out a hand to stop himself heeling to the left. He glanced to the right and watched with a morbid curiosity as the large plaque of mostly-black armour was placed carefully to rest on the berth alongside him. "That's it? What?"

"All right, allow me to elaborate. That was the _easy _bit," Forceps corrected. "Now I can work on your wing in peace. Let me just get the raggedy bits here cleaned up so you don't go catching them on anything…" She brushed a palm down the torn wing margin, examining the damaged edges. "…and you can go do whatever it is you do when not getting under _my_ plating."

Skywarp hissed softly and closed his fingers into a fist, only just resisting the urge to shrink away from her. "How about hurry up about it, femme?"

"Whoa," a little voice from the floor said. "Looking kinda lopsided, there."

"Hello Spike hooming!" Footloose greeted, from her high perch on her sire's shoulder.

Skywarp wasn't so impressed to see him. "_You_ again." He glared down at the human. "How about you keep your ugly mush out of my face, and I won't be tempted to give you flying lessons off the end of my foot?"

Spike baulked, and backed off a step or two. "I thought you wanted asylum?"

"Not from you pesky fleshies I don't." The black Seeker made a spirited attempt to shoot laser beams from his optics.

"Play nice, troublemaker," Forceps told him, irritably. "And try sit still, while you're at it."

"_Make me_, femme." Skywarp stuck his nose in the air.

"Oh-ho, is that a _challenge_ I hear?" She popped her knuckles, meaningfully.

"You're not allowed to hurt me, I'm your patient," he reminded, but got himself comfortable again. "…and- _ow_! I said _not _hurt me, be more careful with that scalpel."

Spike watched as Forceps worked. "So what's the difference between you and Ratchet?" he wondered, as she carefully pared the ragged edges of Skywarp's bad side back to clean, smooth metal.

Forceps gave Skywarp a quick swat around the back of the head for snickering impolitely before answering; "In what way?"

"Well, you're both doctors, kinda, right? And you both fix robots up when they're broken… but you call yourselves by different titles."

"I see what you're getting at… I'm a surgeon, whereas he's a doctor, but we both – on the face of it – look to do much the same thing, that's what you mean?" She glanced down to see Spike nodding. "Well, the difference is down to how specific we are. Ratchet's a generalist, I'm a specialist."

"Doesn't make it much clearer."

"Well, think of it this way. All of us have a finite amount of memory, just like you do. We can't be good at _everything_. Ratchet's an emergency physician, which means he has to know little bits of everything, and be fairly good all round – it's when things are a bit off from the norm that he'd have to start looking at databases and books. Right, Ratchet?"

"Sounds fair," the medic agreed, in the distance.

"I, on the other hand, am a specialist. I trained for surgical medicine only, which means there's not a whole lot of physical damage I can't tackle purely from my own knowledge, _but_… If someone comes to me with a virus? I'll probably just stand there and stare at them."

"Not to say she won't just stand there and stare at you on a normal day as well," Skywarp quipped, and earned another swat around the audios for his trouble. "Ow."

"So if you've all got a similar amount of memory space," Spike wondered, edging back out of range of a kick, "what does that mean for Skywarp?"

"I wouldn't go too far with that line of enquiry, if I were you," the dark Seeker pointed out, expression souring. "Ratchet or no Ratchet, I _am_ gonna give you a boot, in a minute."

Spike took another large step backwards, making sure he was out of reach, folded his arms and lifted his chin, boldly. "I was only gonna ask why it is that you're so _stupid_," he sniped. "It's common knowledge, so what's so bad about asking?"

Skywarp was _right_ off his seat and advancing in seconds; Forceps snatched out an urgent hand and secured a tenuous grip on a trailing wrist, while Spike wisely put a berth between them.

"Lemme _go_, femme!" Skywarp snapped, using his free hand to try and pry the green fingers from around his arm. "I've got a _bug_ to squish!"

"You're not going to do any squishing while I'm around," she corrected, hanging onto him. "Aside from the fact you'd need another bath afterwards and I know how much you love _them_, it'd make it doubly hard to repair you with you back in the brig. And as for _you_…" She directed her most irritable look at Spike. "He's hard enough to get to sit still under normalcircumstances, so will you kindly refrain from winding him up?"

"I was only curious," Spike defended himself, petulantly. "And it's a well-known fact, so why's he so _up tight_ about it?"

Skywarp made more noises and struggled to unlatch the restraining fingers, but the hand just tightened. The human was _just_ out of reach of his flailing thrusters.

"Now now, he's not _stupid_, exactly." Forceps elevated her voice very slightly to be heard over Skywarp's protests. "Warp might not have university-level smarts in that dark helm, but what he's good at, he's _very_ good at. It's just unfortunate that it's quite hard to demonstrate it without him just doing it," she explained, and was relieved to notice his struggling determination to stomp on the human was diminishing. "Skywarp is an, eh, how can I put it? An obligate navigator. To teleport safely, he has to know exactly where he's going, and the layout of walls and large objects at his destination. The only reason he comes across as lower in intelligence is because he has a comprehensive, dynamic internal positioning system that's pretty much second to none."

"Me and my stupid maps," Skywarp grumbled, sourly, folding his arms and leaning huffily back against his berth. "Sepp, you've gotta give me more brains."

"That's probably a bad idea," she replied, dryly. "Doesn't Starscream always say if you had brains you'd be dangerous? Especially given some of the 'maverick' ideas you've been known to come up with."

He glared halfheartedly at her. "You might think it's so funny, you just try living with it," he griped, quietly. "Always being last to get things, always needing stuff explained a dozen times before it just makes _sense_. I've lived with my stupidness for so frickin' long, I don't _want_ it any more! I don't want my stupid useless maps, I don't want my inner-GPS. Even my teleport is pretty frigging stupid since everyone seems to be able to _stop me using it_, right now…!" His voice had turned into a frustrated snap. "I've got a brain full of Cybertron and I don't even _live there_, any more! Probably _never_ gonna live there any more! So you tell me what's the point of still being the butt of everyone's jokes, huh? Little Stupid in the corner who never gets it?"

Forceps had kept her fingers pressed gently on his shoulder vent and, after another few moments of staring at each other, managed to coax him to sit. "We'll sort something out," she promised. "If you really, really don't want your teleport any more-"

"I really, really don't wanna be _stupid_ any more," he corrected.

"_Shh_. As I was trying to say, if you really don't want your gate and all the maps that go along with it, any more," she repeated, once he'd shut up. "Then I'll see what I can do about retrofitting you. _But_. It'll be a major change. I want you to be _certain_ about it before we do anything. All right?"

He studied his fingers, and nodded, huffily.

The open contempt had faded from Spike's face, by now. "You mean you never get lost?" he wondered, stepping back out of Ratchet's way as the Autobot medic approached. "Not ever?"

"Right," Skywarp confirmed, sullenly. "But then neither does anyone else on this stupid mud-ball."

"Don't you believer it, me and Bee are _always_ getting lost," Spike admitted.

A dry grin had softened the Seeker's scowling face. "Yeah, but you're a little fleshbag and he's a little groundling Auto-dork, so _that's_ no surprise," he quipped, first leaning to one side to see around Ratchet, then giving the medic himself a suspicious look. "What are you doing with that?"

Ratchet had a low-intensity laser ablator in his hand, and an Autobot stencil tucked into a belt-clip he wore around his waist; the laser was normally used for stripping corrosion from damaged plating in preparation for the application of new components – or repairs – but Skywarp knew he wasn't at that stage just yet, and he was getting a bad feeling about what the medic had come to do.

"Optimus asked me to do something about these," Ratchet replied, evenly, tapping a finger against the fierce purple insignia on Skywarp's wings and confirming the uncomfortable Decepticon's suspicions. "So I thought I'd come do it while you had nothing better to do."

"Aw, now hang on just a moment!" Skywarp whined, leaning back away from Ratchet and the laser. "Don't take my badges off, they're all I've got left…!"

"Your choice in the matter is a bit limited, I'm afraid," Ratchet cautioned, gently, setting a duster and the stencil down on the berth next to him. "We're not about to force you to wear the Autobot symbol, but aside from that? You can either be a Decepticon in the brig, or Neutral and out of it."

"…But I don't want to be some silly irresolute uncommitted neuuuu-" He caught Forceps looking sideways at him with an arched sardonic eye-ridge and lost his nerve. "Ah that is, I want to keep my allegiance…"

"After everything Megatron did to you and your brothers, you still feel the morbid need to remain loyal to him?" Ratchet checked the settings on the ablator, and carefully applied the emitter to the margin of the purple insignia.

Skywarp's pout turned into a sneer. "Oh _please_, I can still be loyal to Decepticon principles without the smallest shred of loyalty towards _that_ overblown treacherous old Buckethead," he snarked. "That miss-clocked idiot we've been calling 'leader' can't even remember what he's fighting for, any more."

"So what _are_ you fighting for?" Ratchet challenged; keeping the Seeker talking seemed to be distracting him from the tickling scratch of paint being removed.

"Enough energy to rejuvenate Cybertron, obviously. Duh." Skywarp gave him a look. "What have _you_ been fighting for since you hightailed it here from our home, huh, Autobutt? The freedom to build trees and make friends with squishy aliens?"

Ratchet elected not to rise to the bait; instead, he flicked the duster open and wiped it carefully down the clean silver patch on the former Decepticon's wing, removing any residual paint fragments. "There. Sit still while I fetch the enamel."

Skywarp sighed, softly, and examined it. "Now that just looks _odd_."

"Silver," Footloose commented, first leaning down off his shoulder then letting herself tumble ungracefully to the berth to get a closer look. "Day not Decepticon, Day am a blob."

"Thanks for that, Button," he commented, with a tired smile, and pinged her aerials.

She squeaked her amusement, then climbed into his lap and held the Autobot stencil up next to his face. "Looks same," she observed. "Sulky."

"Don't you get any ideas," he threatened, over the abbreviated chorus of impolite snickers. "Or I might be forced to squish _you_, instead of that pesky fleshbag..."

A breem or two later found Skywarp melancholically exploring the seemingly-endless orange corridors, after Ratchet had booted him out of the medical bay for a little while. "If you want people to believe you're serious about this _political asylum_ thing, then you better get to meeting your new 'shipmates' and proving you're not a threat," he'd said. "Now _out_! Go amuse yourself for a while. I need to get Sepp's repairs finished off."

He had ambled around the corridors for a little while, letting Footloose take the lead; most of her chatter fell on inattentive audios, but so long as he made interested-sounding noises in the pauses, she seemed happy enough. It was difficult not to get _twitchy_ – being unarmed and slap-bang in the middle of enemy-… no, _former_ enemy territory, with all this damned _orange_ everywhere, was making him jumpy. The enamel on his wing wasn't even dry yet, and he still felt the urge to scratch a big triangle into it, just to remind them that he wasn't a pet. Something to be _sympathised with_. Because Primus, that was the worst of it – the way that half of them looked at him with open pity on their faces. Contempt, hostility, anger… he could deal with _them_! This stupid mushy Autobot sympathy and concern and forgiveness was making him teeter on the brink of flying into a rage and walloping the bolts out of someone.

They ended up in the galley. He settled in the corner of the room with a small flask of energon, keeping as much to himself as he could manage, and tried not to meet anyone's gaze. It was not because he was _afraid_ to, per se, but because patience and moderation were never his forte. He didn't do so hot on staring matches without getting frustrated and trying to bludgeon his opponent into submission, and guessed that trouncing one of his hosts wouldn't go down too well.

Instead, he studied his fingers where they wrapped around the brushed chrome of the flask, ensuring his thumb obscured the little red Autobot insignia, and appreciated the sharp, cool sensation of clean, well-filtered fuel filling his relays again. _Damn_, he'd forgotten how good that felt! Not just the cleanliness of the energon, after orns of nothing but that grimy, foul-burning rubbish, but also the luxury of sitting peacefully and savouring it, not having to choke it down as fast as he could before the gunfire started.

"Day?"

He glanced sidelong to find Footloose watching him, with that sort of floppy look about her she usually had when she was in low spirits. She'd already negotiated her way around all the other friendly faces in the room, knowing exactly where she wanted to go, and now stood by his feet with her arms up for a hug.

Skywarp winced and glanced surreptitiously around the room, noticing the growing number of optics fixed on him, wondering what he'd do, and picked her up off the floor, holding her at arm's length. "What?"

She whined wordlessly and stretched her arms towards him, wriggling.

"You mean you want me to do silly mushy stuff in full view of the Auto-dorks?" he challenged, perking his head to one side. "How's _that_ gonna help my reputation?"

"_Dayy_," she complained, half-scolding, half sounding like she was going to cry, and kicked her feet. "No stupid."

"All right, all right…" He rocked his chair back onto two legs and hooked his heels up on the countertop, propping his shoulders against the wall behind him, and set her down on his chest. "No stupid."

She immediately settled herself against his bent arm, tucking herself against him. "Want Ama," she said, very softly, setting her head up under his chin and curling against the top curve of his cockpit.

"Oh, I see, now you've got what you wanted, I'm not good enough, hey?" he teased, giving her a prod in the winglet, and felt her wriggle closer.

"Want Ama and Day," she corrected, tiredly. "An' Seem an Dacker an Sta'zim an-"

He placed a finger over her lips. "I don't need the whole family tree, Button. I want 'em all around, too," he murmured. "We've got to find 'em first, though."

"_When _we go find?" She glanced up at him. "Jas says to go, but never when."

"Soon as I'm all fixed up. No point in us going to rescue 'em if I'm falling to bits, right?"

"Day do _any_thing," she argued, quietly.

He couldn't help the grin. "You want to embarrass me in front of the Auto-dorks, or something?" he wondered. _And I wish you were right, little one. Then we wouldn't be stuck here, in limbo, just… _wondering_._

"Don' like Uth," she said, quietly, after a breem or two of comfortable silence, her fingers straying back into her mouth. "Want Ama be here with Day, to go home to Cy'tron."

"Aw, I thought you liked this mud-ball, with all its dirt and squishy aliens."

"Dirt make mess. Too much bath," she complained, quietly.

"Oh, I agree with you on _that_ one. Way, _way _too much bath," he agreed, with a soft chuckle. "This place is kinda designed for the Starscreams among us. Any old excuse to visit the washracks."

Footloose was quiet for a moment. "Is where Sta'zim gone?" she wondered, hopefully. "To make bath? Was much dirty."

"I don't know." He ran his fingers along her little antennae, absently. "Knowing him, he's having better luck finding _us_ than we're having finding _him_."

"Jas say Hoomings took."

"We-ell, that's… _possible_, I guess. But what would they want with a grumpy old squealer like him? He's probably took himself, in search of soap."

She giggled quietly against him, and he noticed her little optics had dimmed all the way down to a low, murky pond green.

"Come on, Trouble." Skywarp rearranged his arms a little, to stop her sliding to the floor, and unhooked his feet carefully from the table. "Looks like it's bedtime, for you now."

"No bed," she protested, but her head sagged sleepily and bumped against his shoulder as he stood.

"Yes bed. You need to defragment that little brain of yours. I don't want you all cratchity if we're gonna go look for Screamer, tomorrow." He sneered very briefly at the disbelieving Autobot faces watching him, as he passed.

"I come with?" she wondered, hopefully.

"If you behave yourself, maybe. _And_ if you go to bed tonight."

Ratchet was still busy with Forceps, when Skywarp passed the threshold into the medical suite; the Seeker mouthed _I'll be quiet_ at the hostile glare from the older mech, who didn't look particularly satisfied at the answer but got back to work.

"No bed. Stay with Day!" Footloose insisted, squirming.

"Aha! Now, see. What if _Day_ wants bed?" He settled on the sideboard next to the fishtank, and hooked his thrusters up onto a convenient stool. "Say goodnight to your fish."

"No bed," she repeated, but the words were more static than anything else by now.

Next time Ratchet glanced up, anxious at the lack of noises, he found both Seeker and Seeklet humming softly in recharge by the wall. He gave Forceps a suspicious look. "What _did_ you do to him, last time the pair of you met up?!"

0o0o0o0o0

Microsurgery on such a tiny piece of electronic equipment was going to be hard under normal circumstances, Thundercracker mused, let alone with all this sand around. He'd tucked the stolen communications wafer safely inside his chest cavity, alongside the memory plates of his quinary processors, and left his body to get on with fixing it. His self-repair nanites had reported almost immediately that it was indeed reparable, but that some of the filamentous microcircuitry was torn, and for them to do it all by themselves was a bit like asking the Seeker to repair an oil pipeline on his own, without the supplies to do it. It would have been easier if he could nudge the circuits back into alignment and the nanites make the appropriate connections, but he was already muddled from Siphon's chemical trickery, and he didn't trust himself not to break it any further.

He'd worked out very early on that the wafer was insufficiently powerful to get a message all the way through the rock that surrounded them all by itself. Even piggybacking the signal off his own more powerful but damaged relay wasn't working. He was going to have to _somehow_ get the thing into an external relay – code it with nanites and a prerecorded signal, and keep his fingers crossed that Warp or Screamer picked it up before anyone else found it and squelched it.

There was a confused grumble and the whine of overtaxed cooling fans from across the cell, and he realised that the slumped heap of formerly-white plating was finally rousing from her sedated slumber. Deuce had brought her back some cycles ago, laid her carefully out by the wall and scuttled off before Thundercracker could challenge him. The blue Seeker wasn't entirely sure what had been done to her, because there was no new damage, but it wasn't as if there was a need to rush to find out; leaving her in peace to sleep off the sedation in her own time had seemed fairest.

Thundercracker pushed himself upright, wobbled precariously on his thrusters for a moment before recovering his balance. "You okay, Squeaky?" he wondered, hoarsely, taking those few steps to her side to check her over.

Pulsar startled, involuntarily, and flinched away before she realised what she was doing. "Sorry, Thundercracker-… I just… you-… made me jump," she apologised, looking back up at him, and he sensed she wasn't being wholly truthful.

"It's started, hasn't it?" he observed, hollowly, crouching.

"Wh-what's started?"

Thundercracker shook his head, reluctantly. "Maybe I can bribe Deuce to get you out before Siphon goes too far with this."

"No-… no, it has to be Seem," she argued, alarmed. "Not me, it has to be the little one! We can't let Siphon do things to him-"

Thundercracker shook his head. "I think Seem is pretty safe at the moment. If that sociopath was going to do anything to him? He'd have started to do so before now. And he might just forgive you escaping – it'll still play into his hands if you're out in this condition, it'll still serve to get Skywarp mad." He sagged to the sand, tiredly. "Plus, if you're out? You're out of reach. Of him, _and _of me."

0o0o0o0o0

Morning revealed that the surreal change in personal situation had not, as Skywarp had half-hoped, just been a hallucination from too much dirty fuel. Footloose had treated him to a particularly energetic wakeup call, climbing all over him until he finally groaned and flailed his arms and roused all the way out of dormancy.

Forceps, on the other hand, had apparently worked all the way through the night, and had just been waiting for him to be in a fit state to have his wing reattached, so now he was back on 'his' berth, trying (and failing) to keep still while Forceps worked, swinging his thrusters. She'd first carefully replaced the bulk of the various transmission lines emerging from his wing-stump, so there was enough for her to work with, leaving him looking like some sort of noxious, many-tentacled sea-creature had set up home in the ragged plating, and was now laying fresh silver armour plates out in the space between him and his repaired wing.

A very low-power ping of positioning data bounced off his firewalls.

Skywarp jerked his head up.

"What's wrong?" Forceps wondered, noticing his sudden animation.

"Wait, wait…" He lifted a hand in a be-patient gesture. _C'mon, Screamer, just confirm that was you_. He relaxed his firewalls a little.

A full breem passed with nothing, and Forceps had already got back to work when another ping at last came through – and this time it was words. It wasn't Starscream's _voice_, as such, but it was certainly his tone and mood. -_Come get, lazy fragger-_

Skywarp immediately pinged back. -_Not dead!_-

-_Yes Warp, am talking from the Matrix_- came the response, and you could almost hear him roll his optics. -_Just come get_-

-_Can talk?_-

-_Transmitter broken. Get to radio_- Starscream instructed, and pinged his wingmate a wavelength.

-_Be right there!-_ Skywarp leaped off the berth, trailing wires and triggering a curse from his surgeon.

"Huh? Where's _he_ going?" Ratchet challenged, just managing to catch a glimpse of the purple thrusters before they vanished out of the doorway.

"I have _no _idea." Forceps was already giving chase, but her heavy frame could never have been said to be built for speed. "I'll tell you when I catch him." Then added, softly; "_if_ I catch him."

Skywarp knew exactly where he was going, thanks to his guided tour the previous day; he skidded around the corner, literally throwing up sparks, and into the monitoring room, barging through Red Alert in his haste to get to a radio.

"Hey, _hey_! You're not allowed in here!" the security chief scolded, trying to tug Skywarp away from the comms terminal, but the Seeker was just big enough by comparison that he was perfectly able to fend him off with one arm, and completely ignored him. "I swear, if you're here to _sabotage_ anyth-… help! If anyone can hear me, I need a _hand_ in here…!"

There was the clump of several sets of footsteps from outside; Red Alert turned his best, most pleading glance towards the doorway, and watched as Forceps – followed by a handful of concerned Autobots – brushed past the curtain.

"You!" Red Alert pointed at the surgeon in the doorway. "I bet this is all your doing!"

"Please, don't you start as well," she despaired. "I assure you, I had nothing to do w-"

"So what's he doing?!" Red Alert interrupted, flinging an arm in Skywarp's direction.

"I have no idea." Forceps peered over Skywarp's shoulder, and watched him punch in a wavelength, excitedly. "Looks like he's trying to contact someone, wouldn't you say?"

"Contacting who? _Megatron_? Can't you stop him?!"

"Will you bunch of idiots quit talking?" the teleport scolded, giving them a glare. "I can't hear! Screamer? Starscream, are you getting this?" He tweaked the dials, gently. "Come on, talk to me."

"…Skywarp?" At last a familiar voice came from the console speakers. Starscream sounded exhausted; his voice was a thin, staticky buzz and almost unintelligible. "At _last_…"

"Screamer!" Skywarp sagged into the chair behind the terminal, relieved. "Primus, I'd begun to think you were dead. You don't know how _good _it is to hear your scratchy old voice, right now! Where are you? Are you all right?"

"Can you just stop flapping your lips and come and get me?" Starscream obviously didn't realise he had an Autobot audience, because he didn't make even the slightest effort not to sound as utterly ground-down beaten as he felt. "I'm filthy, I hurt all over, and I'm tired, and I've been out here in the middle of Primus-knows-where for Primus-knows-how-long. I just want a bath and a rest. Is that too much to ask for?"

"We'll come get you! I've got your location, sit tight and we'll be there as soon as possible."

"What? Who is 'we'?"

"Just you two wait a minute, we're not bringing _him_ back _here_, are we?" Red Alert hissed, quietly, shooting Forceps a dirty look.

There was a pause, and when he finally spoke again, Starscream's voice was soft, suspicious. "Who's that in the background?"

"Umm, that's just thingy," Skywarp replied, evasively. "You know, What's-his-name. Security guy. Forceps is here!" He changed the subject, retreating back into safe territory. "Want to talk to her?"

"She is?" Beat. "Where _are_ you, anyway?"

"Why do you always want to know the irrelevant things at the most inopportune times?"

"What's _irrelevant_ about wanting to know where in Primus' name you two have holed up _this_ time?!"

"We're with friends." Forceps leaned down over Skywarp's shoulder and spoke into the microphone, using her best no-nonsense tone of voice. "Once I'm done fixing Warp, we'll come and get you. All right?"

"Fixing him? What's he done to himself _this_ ti-"

"All right?" she insisted.

Beat. "All right," Starscream replied, grudgingly. "Maybe I can bribe these useless humans for an electrical pickup while I'm waiting. A little astrophysical data to help their research should do it…" His voice descended briefly into staticky mutterings. "Just… hurry up about it, would you?" he wondered, grimly. "Please?"

0o0o0o0o0

A vibrant evening had begun to draw in by the time Forceps was finally satisfied with her handiwork and let Skywarp up. Both knew that by the time they reached Starscream's co-ordinates, it'd be well into the night, but in a way that would work in their favour – it'd mean that there was less traffic about, and fewer prying eyes to notice the odd assortment of vehicles making their slow way back to the _Ark_.

"I'm sorry it's me that has to tell you this, but, ah… I wouldn't expect a friendly welcome back," Jazz warned, reluctantly, watching as Forceps settled herself into an unfamiliar new alt-mode. "We didn't particularly want it to become common knowledge, who you're heading out to fetch, but, eh, well… people talk, you know? The idea old Screamer might be dropping onto our doorstep very soon isn't sitting well with too many folk."

"I'd anticipated such an eventuality," Forceps agreed, softly, revving her engine and checking her systems. "We'll try to be discreet about it, right, Warp?"

"What?" Skywarp looked up, still in his root mode, trying to juggle Footloose onto his shoulders. "Was that important? Because I kinda wasn't listening."

The surgeon diverted her attention back to Jazz. "Never mind. I'll just hit him if he misbehaves," she commented, dryly. "All right, you two troublemakers. Ready to move out?"

"I was beginning to think you'd never ask," Skywarp exulted, melodramatically, and folded suddenly into his alt-mode with Footloose still perched on his shoulder vent; she squeaked in alarm, but landed square in his open cockpit, exactly as he'd planned. He was gone like a streak of purple lightning, venting a bloodcurdling _whoop!_ of triumph as he went.

"I wouldn't wait up for us," Forceps deadpanned, and rolled off down the track, following the dwindling pinpoints of the teleport's thrusters.


	15. Chapter 14

**Warped - Chapter Fourteen**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N: **Wruargh, late update is late.

I'm going to blame it on my brain being broken. I've put the stupid arts that I did over Christmas up in my profile in case people want to share in the borkenedness. :)

* * *

The journey to the little research station was quite a tedious one, but it felt so good to be back on the wing, and not worrying about either getting shot at, or running out of fuel and falling out of the sky, Skywarp for once didn't care in the slightest _how _slow their progress was. Following ground-pounders was usually a frustrating business, trying to maintain enough airspeed to not stall out of the sky altogether, and Forceps could never have been said to be a particularly _speedy_ mover – even at her top speed, she was going well below eighty miles per hour – but Skywarp was quite happy revelling in his rediscovered aerial freedom. It looked almost like a crow mobbing a predator, the way he dipped and wheeled and generally larked about in the skies above the slower vehicle below him.

"You're wasting fuel," a voice scolded, over the radio.

"It's not my fuel, and you have no idea how good it feels _to be able _to waste it in the first place," he shot back, amusedly, strafing low enough that the sleek green flatbed on the highway below could feel the rushing air of his passing. "Besides, we've got an audience," he pointed out, cruising briefly upside down above the road. "If they're gonna stalk us, it's only fair I give 'em something worth watching, right?"

"They're probably just following to make sure we don't get up to anything we didn't ought to," Forceps replied, evenly. She'd also seen the three small Aerialbot-shaped shadows tailing them at a respectful but watchful distance, as they'd left the _Ark_, and had been keeping a slightly more weather eye on _them_ than she was the raucous black jet busy cluttering the airspace above her. Skywarp might _look _like he was going to crash spectacularly any minute, but she guessed that if he was going to misjudge a distance and fly into something, he'd have done so long before now.

The Aerialbots, however, were more of an unknown quantity. She trusted Optimus' judgement, especially after he'd risked the ire of all his comrades by allowing the Decepticon amnesty, but she wasn't yet prepared to state how far she trusted these three younger Autobots. They were full of the same noble ideals, granted, but they were a little more… how to put it… _enthusiastic_… in their pursuit of the Autobot cause. They knew, or at very least _suspected_, who she and Skywarp had come out in search of, and she was a little anxious that words would have been whispered into impressionable young audio receptors. The temptation to do away with two of the Autobots' greatest foes in one hit might be greater than the Aerialbot desire to uphold Autobot values.

She elected not to explain her fears to Skywarp, however. He was quite contentedly showing off his aerial prowess, right now, and keeping him in an amenable, easygoing frame of mind was close to the top of her list of things to do. If she told him she was worried they were going to get shot in the back, _he_ might be the one to get overexcited and start the firefight. If she kept quiet, it would hopefully – probably – all come to absolutely nothing.

They carried on in silence for a while longer; Forceps allowed her automatic guidance systems to take over and dozed placidly, and even Skywarp got bored of acrobatics and instead inscribed sets of big circles in the air, indulging Footloose in a session of _what's that, what does that do, why does that etc._

"Well, we're coming up to the place." Skywarp's voice finally broke the silence almost a full cycle later. "Phoo, look at all them trees. Never took Screamer for such a _nature-lover_."

Forceps gazed up at the stand of trees in front, as they approached, and eyed the glittering needle jutting up into the midnight sky. "You don't think he might be more interested in that honking great radio antenna sticking up out of the middle of them?"

"Are you _genuinely _a humourless old grouch by nature, or does it take extra work to look it?" Skywarp huffed. "All right, Button." He directed his attention inward. "You gonna jump out so I can transform?"

"I stay in, make fly?" Footloose wondered; she'd been investigating his controls, pretending to be his pilot.

"Not this time, can't make fly if I'm in my root mode. Out you get."

"Aw." She patted his console, wistfully, then scrunched her nose in concentration and teleported herself out, knowing to re-materialise a few metres above him. "Whee."

Very nearly operating on autopilot, he rolled over and caught her, lightly, coasting a short distance on his back before rolling back upright and swinging his feet up for a landing.

"Quiet here, isn't it?" Forceps commented, over the comm., trundling up the road a few hundred yards back. "I know I needn't ask if you got the co-ordinates right, but are you sure this isn't a trick?"

"I don't know," Skywarp confessed, letting Footloose scramble up onto his shoulder and watching as the truck unfolded back into the surgeon. "I kinda figure it's just because it's got dark – the humans have probably gone to bed, and Screamer wouldn't let us just walk into anything without warning us." He shifted uneasily. "But then he might have been being cryptic about it and that's not my strongest suit, y'know? Cryptic is only good when TC is about to work out what he's going on about."

"I don't think there was a lot 'cryptic' about his message," Forceps reassured. "Because what I heard was not so much _cryptic_ as it was _cripplingly exhausted._" She glanced warily around herself, anyway. "Let's see if we can find any of the natives, maybe they'll know where he's got settled."

"Good idea. But be careful, these Squishy biologicals are tricky beasts," Skywarp counselled, then added, hopefully; "Tell you what, you go first, and I'll watch your back."

She glanced back over her shoulder and gave him one of her Looks, but went ahead of him anyway. "Because I'm _bigger_, or just more expendable, you big purple coward?"

"No-o, it's so I can watch your back! Even if you _are_ bigger than me, _and_ armed."

"_Armed_?" she scoffed. "With surgical lasers, maybe, but I can't _shoot_ them."

"Hey, it's more than I've got," he reminded, following closely in her footsteps and trying to watch where they were going over her shoulder. "Besides. I've seen what you can do with 'em."

"…If I can get within grabbing distance to do it."

"Exactly, and _no __way_ am I coming close to you when you're having a bad day. Hey, look. There's one." Skywarp pointed over her shoulder at an oblivious-looking man moving between shadowy buildings a hundred or so yards away. "Wait here." He deposited Footloose into Forceps' startled hands. "I'm gonna go question it."

Before the big femme could protest, grab him or remind him to be _gentle_ about his interrogation, the teleport had vanished.

0o0o0o0o0

It had been a pretty strange day or two so far, Doctor Arundsen mused, heading out of the residential facility and back towards the science block. They'd always considered their little research station to be too small and too underfunded to have ever been interesting to the Decepticons, but now they had the second-in-command himself (admittedly looking somewhat under the weather) literally camped out on one of their roofs. It was only yesterday morning that the logging truck had arrived, carrying those infamous wings and a loud, unfriendly voice, and now the rumour mill said there were more Autobots on their way to 'remove him' (which he hoped wasn't an euphemism for 'shoot the crap out of him, attract the Decepticon leader into the fray, and reduce all the buildings to smouldering rubble'. Meetings between the two rival groups of aliens did usually seem to end with gunfire.)

Things were admittedly quiet, right now. Their unwanted guest seemed to be almost asleep (or whatever counted as somnolent, for a machine), his hostile crimson gaze dimmed out to a surly wine red, and the snide commentary of '_you should be doing it _this_ way, it's more efficient and you'll get better readings'_ every time they tried to do _anything _had finally stopped. (He hated to admit it, but the alien _had_ almost been being helpful, in a rude, disparaging sort of way.) It wasn't making too much of an impact on his ability to work, anyway – Arundsen always _had_ been a bit of a night-owl, and right now that was paying a small dividend, because now he could actually get something _done_. The night was crisp and the skies were clear, and in spite of the fact their antenna was still undergoing its scheduled maintenance (when they could get to it) he was getting some good readings, especially after the tweaks they'd had suggested to them by-

"All right, Fleshbag, where is he?!"

The voice boomed out of nowhere, and an enormous black leg with a vivid purple trim impacted hard enough with the dirt right in front of him to make the ground shake. Arundsen quite literally leaped backwards in alarm.

"What have you done to him?!" the voice insisted. "Tell me _now_, human, or I'll _flatten_ you."

"Wh-what?" Arundsen cowered away from the bristly-tempered black machine that was suddenly towering imposingly over him, but the wall was against his back and he couldn't get any further away. He staggered sideways; the door had to be somewhere near here! "We-we haven't d-done anyth-thing to anyone!" he yelped, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away. "Wh-whatever you want, just t-take it! Please don't hurt us!"

"So tell me where he is, already-"

Under the challenging snarl, the scientist could hear the low _whump_ of another heavy set of feet, and to his dismay an _even larger_ machine appeared out of the gloom. Its large face was crimped in a glower and Arundsen barely resisted the urge to sink to the floor and whimper, arms protectively over his head.

Thankfully, the newcomer's irritation looked to be directed towards its compatriot, not the cowering human. "Does the respectful approach never occur to you, or do you just assume everyone is as rude as you?" it wondered, steering the protesting flier out of the way; the gruff voice was deep and strangely feminine.

Arundsen shrank further back from it – her? – as she stooped closer to his level. "We don't mean you any harm," the new machine reassured the frightened scientist. "We're just here to collect something."

"Are you Auto-b-bots?" Arundsen stammered, hopefully. He couldn't see any emblems to confirm it, and their symbols were usually pretty prominent so they could avoid getting shot at, but just because he couldn't _see _them didn't mean they were Decepticons…

"We're, ah… Neutrals," the female corrected. "We have no allegiance to either faction. We're only here to collect our friend."

"Um, the-… the D-Decepticon? He's over there, st-stealing all our electricity." He gestured an arm towards the transmitter building.

"Stealing? He said he was going to trade for it."

Looking a little shamefaced, the man backed down, and made a futile attempt to smooth out the papers he'd been screwing into brutalised rags since the flier had narrowly missed stomping on his head. "Uh, well, all right, uh, he d-did give us some data," he confirmed. "And he's n-not been too much of a bother. Just… um, well, he's scaring the contractors away! And we need to d-do maintenance work on the aerial."

"We'll get him out from under your feet," the big female confirmed, with a nod. "And you can get back to your work."

Skywarp had already headed off in the direction the man had indicated, when Forceps straightened and turned away from the jittering human. "Whoo-oo, Screamer? Where are yooou?" he sing-songed, noisily. (A small number of lights went on in the residential block, as if to scold whoever was making all the racket, but hastily went off again at seeing just who was shouting.)

"Well _you_ certainly took your fragging time to get here!" a loud, familiar voice finally blared, and they followed the direction it had come from to see a pair of red and white wings sprawled out on the roof under the transmission aerial. "What were you doing, _ground-pounding_ together, or something?!"

Skywarp gave a whoop of glee and leaped at him. "Damn, are you ever a sight for sore optics!" he crooned, enveloping his wingmate in a most un-Decepticon-like hug. "Even after speaking to you, I thought I'd finally find you in lots of bits." Beat. "Well, lots _more_ bits than you're already in."

"You might _still _find me in lots of bits if you don't stop crushing the life out of me," Starscream groused, although he couldn't _quite_ hide the relieved grin on his face, or the way he held his wingmate almost as tightly in response for a few seconds. "You're squashing me, you big idiot. Now help me off this stupid roof before we end up _inside_."

Knowing _saving-face_ when he saw it, Skywarp backed down, with a disrespectful poke of the tongue, and secured his hands around both of Starscream's thrusters. "All right, oh Screaming One, let's get your red aft off this roof. One! Two!-"

"Hey, _hey,_ you just be careful!" Starscream yelped, alarmed, holding up a hand in a useless plea of _wait!_ "I'm _damaged_!"

"-Three!"

One almighty tug later and both jets were on their afts on the dirt; one was hooting rudely in amusement, the other was bouncing clods of dirt off his head in a futile attempt to shut him up.

"All right, Warp, move over," a voice grumbled from behind, and a large green foot boosted him out of the way with a quick shove to the aft. Skywarp gave a _yerp_ of startled alarm, and scuttled hastily out of the way to nurse his pride while Starscream took his turn to _snerk_ amusedly. "Let's get a look at how bad you are under all that dirt."

Something small and noisy dropped from the surgeon's shoulder, as she stooped, and onto the red Seeker's chest; it turned out to be Footloose, squeaking happily (and completely incomprehensibly) in her happiness at finally finding him. He pinged her little aerials and managed a half-smile as she jammed herself up against his throat and purred noisily enough to make his shoulders vibrate in harmony.

"So tell me, surgeon. How long?" Starscream wondered, grimly, after a full breem had passed with not a word spoken by anyone.

"How long what?" The big femme spared him only the briefest of glances.

"How long before I'm in a fit state to help Warp go looking for TC?"

She actually _winced_, which couldn't be a good sign. "Well, ah. That all depends."

"Depends on what?" he challenged, optics narrowing.

"Depends on whether I can find the appropriate replacement cold fusion core for your left turbine. Without it? I'm afraid you're going to be grounded for a lot longer than you'd like."

"What? _Again_?!" He all but exploded, and Footloose hastily vacated her perch on his shoulder. "I swear, if this is just a silly plot to keep me somewhere you can keep an eye on me better-…!"

"Oh, hush your voicebox for once," Forceps interrupted, darkly. "If you hadn't noticed? Which incidentally I'm beginning to wonder if isn't too far off the mark, the way you've insisted on walking around on it! There's not actually a lot of substructure _left_, here." She brushed a large hand down the skeletal remains of his left lower-leg. "All the leads into your generator have fused, and the core itself has burned out. If you ever want to get back into the air with a little more efficiency than trying to run everything off the one engine, I'm going to have to radically rebuild the whole thruster complex from the ground up. And that's assuming I can find the parts." She gave him a glower. "Trust me, keeping your naggy self grounded and close to my audios is the _last_ thing I'd want."

Starscream folded his arms and sulked quietly. "Well, if I find out you have been _lying _to me at any point, any unspoken agreement I might have made not to shoot you will have become null and void," he griped, sullenly.

"Well, then I've got nothing to worry about, have I?" She clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get you out of here, anyway, and away from these poor long-suffering natives. Warp? Want to give us a hand, here?"

"Not particularly," Skywarp argued, sniffily, but came over anyway. "What do you want me to do?"

"Just help your brother onto his feet, so he can get into my trailer."

"How many times do I have to tell you he's not my _brother_?" Skywarp wondered, stooping and offering both arms to his wingmate. "And _you_ could at least _try_ and help," he scolded, once Starscream had got a good grasp on his arms but made absolutely no effort to help himself get back to his feet.

"I probably could, but where's the fun in that?" Starscream wondered, dryly, wobbling precariously but managing to balance on his right leg. "What happened to _you_, anyway?" He ran his fingertips almost tenderly down the outsides of his wingmate's arms, lingering briefly over the little rounded 'scars' where his weaponry should be.

Skywarp let his gaze drop to the ground, shamefaced. "Uh, well… Megatron happened," he explained, quietly. "Sepp's only just finished reattaching my wing properly."

Starscream's lips had already compressed to a thin little line of anger. "He'll pay for _that_, you just mark my words," he promised, softly. "I'll see to it that getting you re-armed is one of the first things I do when we _finally _get in out of the mud." He hesitated, and his expression took on a different sort of suspicion. "Speaking of which… where _are_ you two lurking, anyway?"

"Uhh, well…" Skywarp examined the dirt beneath his thrusters a little more closely, to avoid having to meet his wingmate's accusing crimson gaze.

"I told you the last time you asked. We're staying with friends," Forceps added, evasively. She was back in her heavy alt-mode, which made it a lot easier to look guileless. "Isn't that good enough? I would have thought you wouldn't mind _where_ we were, so long as it was clean and dry and had enough energy supplies to keep you comfortable."

"Now now. Anyone would think you were hiding out with the _Autobots_," the red Seeker chuckled, although his tone wasn't particularly _amused_ – it was _challenging_. Daring them to admit that well, uh, actually they kinda _were._

"Uh, well, you see…" Skywarp shifted his feet and rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to look quite so apologetic and failing dismally. "I was kinda running out of options, and I thought you lot were all dead, so… I kinda… well… There wasn't much else I could do, Screamer!"

"Neither of us really had much choice in the matter of our accommodation," Forceps confirmed. "Until this time yesterday I was still limping, and Skywarp was barely able to remain upright after all the bad fuel he'd been forced to use."

"Oh, I believe you when you say you've had a tough time of it," Starscream accepted, using Skywarp as a crutch to help him limp towards the truck. "But I still want to know where you're hiding out. It can't be _that_ bad that you're going to avoid the question every time I ask it." He paused, using one hand to prop himself up, and wagged a scolding finger at Skywarp; the teleport glared and swatted the hand away. "And if you don't answer the question I'll be forced to imagine the worst has happened and you're hiding out somewhere with the Auto-morons."

Footloose didn't understand why they were being so evasive about it – he'd find out soon, anyway. "_Am_ with Autobots," she agreed, quietly, from her perch on Forceps' cab. She frowned in concentration, and explained; "have a lytical of silums."

"Agh!" Starscream threw up his arms in frustration and promptly lost his balance. Landing hard on his aft on the dirt again didn't seem to have helped his mood. "Why is it you two are… just… rrgh!" He stabbed a finger in Skywarp's direction, accusingly. "Every time I get a little clonk on the head and am out of the game for an orn or two, you slagging well go running to the Primus-damned _Autobots_!"

"Well, what else did you expect me to do, go running to _Megs_ for sympathy?" Skywarp glared back. "He'd just ripped my slagging _wing _off! I was barely freaking _airborne_ half the time!"

Starscream folded his arms across his chest, defensively, preventing Skywarp from easily helping him up – not that the teleport looked like he _wanted_ to in the first place, any more. "Well I hope neither of you are expecting me to happily agree to come with you," he pointed out, frostily. "Because it's _not_ going to happen."

"You know, for once in your life it'd be nice if you could just accept what life offers you without arguing it all the way there." Skywarp glared at him. "I used some really long words that made my brain hurt to get us in there, the least you could do is mutter a _thank you_."

"…but…" Starscream released an arm to gesture. "_Autobots_?!"

"Yeah, Autobots, what of it?" Skywarp gave him a half-hearted, sulky kick. "So they're a sentimental bunch of idiots, they still took time to get me cleaned up and fixed, _and_ let me keep my little one with me, so what's the big deal?"

"They're _the enemy_, Skywarp! Have you _forgotten _all those thousands of vorns we've spent fighting them?!"

"Well _where else _was I gonna go?" Skywarp despaired. "I was falling to pieces, I was freaking _exhausted_, and the humans kept shooting at me when I tried to swipe fuel off 'em. Trust me, if there'd been anywhere else I could go? I'd have gone there."

"Warehouses have served us pretty well in the past," Starscream sniped, glaring.

"Oh yeah, because we're gonna find one of _them_ with enough amenities to organise search and rescue from, _and_ look after Lucy," Skywarp retorted. "And not many of them have energon converters or medical facilities, and very few have _carwashes _attached."

"Not like that makes a difference to _you._" Starscream gave him a disparaging look. "How many attempts before they managed to get _you_ to take a bath?"

"They just did it while I was unconscious-"

"Ha!"

"-and _that's _beside the point! My state of cleanliness wouldn't have been an issue if you'd been watching your back a bit better! I just about ran myself into the ground looking for you, that disgusting petroleum energon fouled up all my valves and almost glued my primary up altogether!"

"I wouldn't have had to watch my back if you'd just kept your damned mouth shut!" Starscream yelled back. "If you'd just kept quiet and let everything just go to plan-!"

"He already fragging well _knew_ about them! He'd have shot you and TC down _regardless_ what I said!"

"So you must have let things slip earlier!"

"Or _mayybe_ the resident Mindprobe rooted it out of your processors, mister _I'm-Too-Obvious-When-I'm-Cooking-Up-Another-Scheme-Against-Megs!_" Skywarp gave him another hostile kick in the side.

Unimpressed, Starscream swept his good leg out sideways, and took his wingmate's feet out from under him while he was balanced precariously on one leg.

"If you weren't so fragging obvious about it when you're plotting another coup," Skywarp went on, trying to simultaneously push himself upright _and _wave an arm in a way that implied he'd just like to shoot the red Seeker and drag him off while he was unconscious. "He wouldn't have had Soundwave spying on you quite so much!"

"And if you actually changed the habit of a lifetime and considered what you were _thinking_, some times, he wouldn't have had the _chance_ to weasel it out of your stupid processors!"

"Don't you try and blame this smeltery all on me!" Skywarp lunged for him. "I've fixed things the best I can, so you can _like it_, or you can frigging _slag off!_"

"I am _not_ going to live with _Autobots_!" Starscream almost shouted it. "And I am _certainly_ not going to cohabit with them on the inside of a damn _mountain_!"

"Do I have to beat it into your thick head?" Skywarp wailed, using Starscream's audio vents to smack his head into the ground. "We haven't got any choice in things right now! Because _we haven't got anywhere else_!"

Whether the blow had dazed him or whether the pain in the teleport's voice had finally begun to register, Starscream – for once – didn't snipe back.

"This is our only chance to get ourselves back in good condition, Screamer. We're not gonna do it alone – even with Sepp to patch you up we need somewhere to live. So are you gonna shut up and help me find TC, or are you gonna keep telling me I'm stupid for making the best of a bad situation? Because so help me I _will_ leave you behind to walk back by yourself." Skywarp sat back on his thrusters and let his hands drape down in his lap, but in spite of how tired he looked, he still managed to find half a smile from somewhere. "Besides, I know _why _you don't want to go, and he's not even _there_ at the moment."

That reduced Starscream to indignant splutterings, not sure exactly what sentiment he was trying to convey. "I don't know what you mean."

Footloose took her chance and adopted the role of the absent Thundercracker, slotting herself in between them. "Not to be angry?" she pleaded, quietly. "Day hurt, Sta'zim hurt, need to make better so can look for Ama, for Dack and Seem."

The two Seekers sat and glared at each other, for a moment or two, the silence broken only by the cycling of cooling fans slowly running down.

For once, Starscream was first to look away. "All right," he growled, beaten. "I can't do much with my leg in pieces under me. Annd… I suppose if they're willing to give their energon away to their mortal enemies, provided we look sufficiently pathetic and beaten up, then that's their choice, and who am I to argue with stupid Autobot sentimentality. And it doesn't mean this is a permanent change, either! Soon as we're fixed up, and reunited with TC, the old status quo is resumed. All right?"

Skywarp gave him a lopsided grin, and hauled him up off the dirt. "I think I can live with that, provided you quit whining," he accepted, helping his wingmate finally hobble back to the green flatbed, who had been watching proceedings with a barely-hidden impatience, her engine ticking softly, irritably. "And so long as _you_ explain to Lucy why she can't go see the Auto-dorks, any more, when we're done."

"How exactly _did _you end up with the Autobots, anyway?" Starscream directed his attention at the sparkling now clinging to his shoulder. "Skywarp I can almost understand, because it all fits with his usual haphazard way of thinking, but I don't even see how _you_ managed to get that far under your own power."

"Hoomings took away to sell," Footloose explained. "Said to make into mints! But Jas made rescue. Aunnie Ausep am shot, but now fixed. Day come to find after!"

Starscream arched a brow first at the sparkling, then at his wingmate. "Did you understand a word of that?"

"I thought she was pretty succinct," Skywarp argued, sniffily, and stuck his nose in the air. "You're supposed to be the clever one, anyway, _you_ work it out. Now, you gonna come with, Button?" He offered his hands.

She sucked her fingers, briefly, and looked first up at Skywarp, then sidelong at Starscream. "I go with Unnol Sta'zim," she decided. "As can't make fly."

"Aww, how cute." Skywarp grinned. "All right. You look after Uncle Screamer, and I'll fly on ahead and make sure they've all got cameras ready for when you get there."

"You fragging _dare-_!" Starscream was back on his feet in alarm, and his leg promptly gave out underneath him again.

Skywarp caught him before he could get another mouthful of dirt. "Aw, come on. They might be more willing to believe we're being _honest_ if you let them see your sensitive side," he teased.

"My fist will be _impacting_ against your sensitive side, in a minute!" Starscream snapped, frustratedly giving his fellow Seeker a thump on the wing. "Don't make me undo all Sepp's good work by forcing me to dismantle you _with my teeth_!"

"Now now, don't be grouchy, you'll upset your niece."

Footloose gave him an exaggeratedly pouty expression to underline the thesis.

"Oh all right, all right. Lay off the emotional blackmail, you two." The fallen Air Commander settled sulkily into Forceps' trailer portion, making sure he was snugly between the two low 'walls' on either side of the flatbed, and folded his arms firmly over his chest.

Footloose promptly clambered up onto his chassis, and settled herself into the fold of his elbow. "We go now?"

Starscream sighed, irritably, and watched as the scenery began to move slowly past them. "Looks that way. And the sooner we get back, and the sooner I get fixed, the sooner we can get this whole mess resolved."

0o0o0o0o0

"No offence, Mitch, but, ah… just… wondering how well you've thought this thing through?"

Mitchell glanced up from the unappealing breakfast he was struggling his way through (felt like trying to eat a plate of sawdust); Vallory was peering around the edge of the tent, warily. "What do you mean, Val?"

"Well… egh, you know." The younger man scratched the back of his neck. "I have enough problems with just being _accused _of international terrorism without you actually embroiling me in the _real_ stuff," he grumbled, pursing his lips. His swarthy features had led to him being stopped a dozen times at major airports in the last month already. "I'm not sure I want in on this, any more. Kinda, you know. Just want to take my money, and get out while my head's still attached between my shoulders."

"Listen." Mitchell placed his spoon down and gave his colleague a long, hard look. "I asked you this at the start, but I guess I have to ask it again. You want these freak machines off our planet, right?"

"Well… er, well, kinda, I guess. The crazy ones, sure." Vallory eyed their truck, warily. He still hadn't absolutely convinced himself it was just a truck and not Deuce under a different paintjob. "I'm not that bothered about the other… ones…-"

Mitchell lifted a finger for silence, and Vallory's words dwindled to nothing. "All or nothing, right? That's what we signed up for. Nab the little one if we can, but kill the big ones. Reclaim our planet for us humans, not let these damned machines keep using it as their playground. Right?"

"Well that wasn't _strictly_ what I joined up for," Vallory argued. "I joined up because I didn't want to live in that… that _hovel_ any more. If I got a bit of money I could make something of myself, maybe go to University like Mom wanted me to-"

"Aw, lay off the sentiment, Val," Mitchell gave him a humourless swat on the arm. "If that's honestly what you're here for? Then maybe you _had_ best piss off back to the States now, before you go ruin it for the rest of us realists here." He took a swig from his water bottle, and sighed, irritably. "From here on in, now we're in a trusted position in the robots' game, we're gonna be playing to a different tune. The powers that be want the alien machines to be gone," he explained, flatly. "They want the tech, they want the baby one, and they want to use both to develop up into something to use to defend us against any other threat to our way of life – alien or otherwise – that shows up on our doorstep, but these asshole giant robots? The adult ones? Need to be gone. Completely and totally."

"I'm not sure starting an interstellar war is a good idea," Vallory demurred, uneasily. "While they're busy fighting each other, sure it's annoying and folk get caught in the crossfire a fair bit, at least they're not out-and-out trying to kill _us_. If we piss 'em off and they declare war on us instead, there might not be a whole lot of this world left worth fighting over at the end of it."

"Tch. You just got no imagination. Listen. If we can get the major antagonists here? The bad guys, the… the Decepticons? There won't _be_ any more robot war, because we can wipe 'em off the face of the world. Turn them into little puddles of molten goop. If Megadong and his cronies are gone, whatever tree hugging idiots are left up in the States will be easily persuaded to fuck right off to wherever they came from."

"I don't think they'll be so easy to get rid of as you think. If they can't kill each other with all the tech _they've _got, how the frick are a bunch of primitive little animals like us gonna achieve anything?"

"Well, let's just say we've got a little help." Mitchell patted the oblate spheroid just inside the tent with a touch that bordered on tender. "Once we bait them into the area, we evacuate the people and leave this little cherry bomb where they'll walk into it…"

Vallory gave it a suspicious look. "What _is_ that, anyway? Something else that crazy tanker gave you?"

"Mm, not in so many words," Mitchell shook his head. "It's something another team swiped off a Decepticon shipment when they had their backs turned." He glanced briefly up at Vallory, who had already backed away a futile few steps. "Oh, don't worry. It's pretty safe, so long as we don't go drop it or anything froo-froo like that."

"I'm not sure I like living with a nuclear weapon as my neighbour, you know."

"Nuclear weapon? Heh, if only." Mitchell grinned, showing his lopsided teeth.

"So what _is_ it?"

"Y'know? Even our science guys aren't entirely sure how it works," Mitchell admitted. "What they said to me was to imagine it as a little chunk of baby sun in a round metal egg. Right now it's 'asleep', but once fusion is triggered it'll keep going until it gets too diffuse and spontaneously burns out. The official name they've given it is a 'plasma percussive' – generates a small, intensive burst of superheated compressed gas and obliterates almost anything in its path. But for now?" he smirked. "We're calling it a Sun Grenade. All you _really_ need to know is to get the hell out of Dodge once we arm it."

Vallory was already unconsciously backing off. "…how far away would I need to be to be out of range?"

"Well, they weren't too precise, but I figure about five miles should do it."

0o0o0o0o0

"If you don't shut up, Skywarp, I _swear_, next time you come past me? I _will_ catch hold of you, and _pack your vocaliser full of dirt_."

Skywarp sighed, melodramatically, and managed (with some difficulty) to match speeds with Forceps. "Sepp, is that seriously as fast as you can manage?" he wondered. "Screamer's being a grouch again. Sooner we can get him in the bath the better."

"I _can_ hear him," the surgeon confirmed, dryly; she'd got to seventy-two miles an hour, but with difficulty. "You know, if you stopped poking him about what he looked like, he might stop threatening you with violence."

"Nngh." Skywarp grumbled his vents and peeled away sideways, vanishing into the gloom. "He's always prodding _me_ about my state of cleanliness, so why should he get preferential treatment when _he's_ an old dustbucket?"

A glittering spear of vivid purple stabbed down into the dirt alongside the road right where Skywarp had just been, narrowly missing the truck and her passengers and sending a cascade of grit and earth over all three of them.

"Coneheads! Where the frick did _they_ spring from?!" Skywarp yelped, throwing himself into a spin and dancing just out of range of the spattering of laser fire that chased him.

"Coneheads?" Forceps gunned her engines and managed to creep up to seventy six. "I was hoping never to have to meet up with _those_ three again."

"What do you mean, again?" Starscream wondered, clinging on for dear life.

"Why do you think I ended up at the Autobots in the first place? They dropped a mountain on me!" Seventy seven. "Nngh, I'm not going to squeeze much more speed than this out of my engines. We're going to have to get to shelter and wait it out!"

"I'll keep 'em busy!" Skywarp had already done a dramatic rolling curve and spun to face their attackers. "You three get back to safety!" The fact he had nothing to shoot _with_ didn't stop him acting like he was as fully-armed as usual.

"How are you going to 'keep them busy' when they've shot you down?" Starscream yelled after him, but Skywarp had already crowed a battlecry and gone on the offensive. "Primus-damned-... argh. Sepp? Get us to some sort of defensive position," he instructed. "I'll keep us covered until they get bored and frag off back to _Nemesis_."

"Think they will?" Forceps wondered, tersely; most of her power was now going into her main drive.

"Of course. I used to work with them until very recently, remember? A bigger flock of cowards would be hard to find." Starscream was already powering up his weapons. "A few well-placed null-rays should remind them who they're dealing with. Just get us somewhere a smidge easier to defend that the open road, and we'll show them a thing or two…"

0o0o0o0o0

"…shouldn't we help them?" Trailing along unseen some distance behind, above the sudden flurry of fireworks that had sparked off along the road, Air Raid was jittering in his eagerness to join in.

"And get shot up in the process? No thanks! Just because _you_ want the excuse to get a few punches in," Slingshot retorted. "Besides, they look like they're handling things pretty well themselves, anyway."

"…Optimus said to follow to make sure they didn't get into trouble," Silverbolt demurred. "This looks like it counts as trouble, if you ask me. They might have come for the little one."

"Puh. Trouble? Looks like just more Decepticon trickery. Skywarp's unarmed, and _still_ hasn't had a shot land on him yet." Slingshot sounded unimpressed.

"Could be a trick, yes. Could just be that usual purge-poor Decepticon aim coming in to play. Since when have they ever been able to hit _anything_?" Air Raid pointed out.

"We'll give them a minute or two to get bored," Silverbolt decided. "Then we'll move in, if we're still needed."

0o0o0o0o0

While Thrust went after Starscream's little group, Dirge and Ramjet had gone after Skywarp. They were using a sort of modified pincer manoeuvre to try and box the teleport in, but Skywarp was making things difficult for them. Flying low level and nipping in and out around the sporadic trees and bushes was keeping the pursuing Coneheads _just_ out of range; he could hear them cursing him, noisily, frustrated by their inability to knock him out-

A lucky shot clipped the rear edge of his left wing. Skywarp yelped in alarm and promptly nosedived, digging a trench with his nosecone. "Ow, _oww_! Oh, damn, ow. I thought we'd got past the bit where I keep getting shot out of the sky!" he protested, transforming and flinging himself sideways just in time to avoid another barrage of laser fire as the two Coneheads flew overhead. At least all this stupid vegetation he'd ended up in was disrupting their aim! And his dark enamel helped him blend in with his dark surroundings – his crimson optics were all that gave him away, and provided he kept them dim… He darted for sanctuary under the spreading boughs of a large tree, and watched them fly past, swearing and annoyed that they'd lost him.

"…maybe we got him properly, that last time?" he heard Dirge suggest, as they wheeled about, two pinpoints of brightness picking out his engines.

"Maybe," Ramjet sounded dubious. "We got him _grounded_, at any rate. Better go take care of our Screaming friend over by the cliffs anyway, before he gets Thrust somewhere sensitive and scares the big wuss away. We can nab the wee one before Warp gets back up on his feet."

Skywarp narrowed his optics, irritably. _Time to teach YOU lot a lesson. _His temporary inability to _fly_ didn't mean the Coneheads were _out of_ _reach_ – in a spectacularly un-Skywarp-ly bit of quick-thinking, the dark Seeker teleported himself directly above the marauding Ramjet, and dropped squarely down on his back. Ramjet gave a yelp of alarm and bucked, but his assailant already had his arms around him in a parody of an embrace, scraping his hot thrusters across the Conehead's sensitive wings, as if attempting to _kick_ him out of the sky.

"Orders were to drag your carcass back with us but I _swear_, you traitorous slagger, I'll see you in bits before I take you back!" Ramjet cursed.

Skywarp was silent, concentrating on just clinging on; now he'd got up here, he had no idea what he was going to do about getting _down_ without getting _shot_, and falling this far (because Ramjet was already climbing higher) didn't seem like much fun! _If I can get Ramjet out of the picture, with luck the other two will lose the will to fight as well._ Any minute now, Dirge would recover his wits and be back on the offensive, and with no leverage it wasn't like he'd be able to turn Ramjet into the way of any shots.

_If I can teleport him into something – without entangling _myself _in the process – that'd work. _Skywarp surveyed the ground, hastily. _Or maybe just hit him really hard. That might be enough… _

One quick triangulation later and the two reappeared a scant hundred or so metres from the rocky hillside. Skywarp was already getting himself out of harm's way as they re-materialised, and threw himself backwards off the Conehead's wings _just _in time, landing with an _oof! _of pain but otherwise undamaged on the dirt.

Ramjet was not so lucky. He barely had time to register _oh shit __rocks _before slamming into them, _hard_. His yelp of alarm was curtailed almost as soon as he'd begun to vocalise it, and curls of electricity and the bright flare of ignited energon sputtered around him as he slumped lifelessly to the dirt, leaving a trail of moonlit white paint against the rocks. He wasn't dead, far from it – Cybertronian alloys were tougher than that, and he himself had been designed specifically to survive hefty collisions of this nature – but this was pushing the limit of even his capabilities, and had certainly taken him out of the battle for a while. The jarring shock of the crunching impact had destabilised his cortex, and he'd be unconscious for several breems while it rebalanced itself, and aching for cycles afterwards.

Dirge wailed in anger and swept low over the ground, scattering laser fire and forcing Skywarp to bolt in the direction of the _ping_ of positioning data that told him where the others were hiding. Getting past Thrust was easier said than done, especially with Dirge hard on his tail, but a well-spread hail of laser fire startled the two marauders into enough of a retreat to let the teleport scuttle hastily under Starscream's wing and into their shallow rocky alcove, taking shelter behind Forceps.

Footloose scrambled instantly into his arms; she was trembling hard enough to be vibrating. "Make them go, Day…!" she mewed, trying to burrow into his chassis. "Make go _now_."

"We're going to have to rely on Screamer to do that," he said, and groaned, faintly. "Great, now we're _all _trapped in the corner. Some master plan _this _turned out to be."

"Oh, just… hush up… and let me… get on… Skywarp," Starscream struggled the words out, exhaustedly. The red Seeker was covering all four of them, now – and he looked pretty much out of power. His shots were wobbly, underpowered – barely capable of scorching their assailants, let alone fending them off altogether, although he _was_ cleverly targeting sensitive areas and making the best job he could of it.

Finally, luck ran out. Starscream managed to catch Dirge in one of his vents and sent the blue jet wheeling out of range, whining pathetically, but that was it. His null-rays fizzed a brief shower of lilac sparkles, but nothing more, and his knees bowed inward, sagging him sideways into Forceps. "That's… that's it," he ground the words out. "No more… power."

Watching and sensing victory, Thrust landed a few dozen yards away from them. "Bring out the little one," he intoned, "and we might just spare the rest of you."

"_Go get smelted_, you big red heap of reject parts!" came the return catcall, from the back of the group.

"Get behind me," Forceps instructed, pushing to the front. "I've just got the edge when it comes to the power to weight ratio, so we'll see how he likes going up against someone a little more evenly matched."

"You might be… _heavier,_ but you're not… khn, not exactly _well armed_," Starscream hissed the reminder, quietly, but didn't argue otherwise.

Thrust smiled, amusedly. "They dug you out still in one piece, huh, femme?" he taunted. "If you wanted a rematch that badly, you only had to say so, not tag along with these losers just to get my attention."

Skywarp made an outraged noise at being called names, but couldn't quite manage to climb his way through Forceps to take the point up with Thrust.

...The two remaining Coneheads were so focussed on their grounded prey that the Aerialbots caught them completely blindsided. Air Raid blistered down out of nowhere, raining ginger destruction down across Thrust's wings, and when a startled Dirge did a big loop and attempted to go on the offensive, he all but flew straight down Slingshot's intakes. Suddenly finding themselves outnumbered _and _outgunned, the two Decepticons hastily revised their plans, turned tail, and fled, snatching the insensate Ramjet out of the dirt on their way past. Air Raid and Slingshot followed them just far enough to ensure they didn't double back; Silverbolt landed elegantly nearby to check no serious injuries had been sustained.

The main injury looked like it had been dealt to Starscream's pride; he still sat there in the dirt, looking absolutely _furious_ at having to rely on _Autobots _to get him out of a tight spot.

"How in Primus name did those three morons know where we were?" Starscream snapped, shaky with exhaustion, allowing Forceps to gather him up off the floor. "Unless _some_body," it was lost on no-one that he chose to direct his glare at Skywarp, "_told_ them…"

"I guess they must have picked up on _your _transmission." Skywarp looked deeply offended at the insinuation it had been his fault, but miraculously didn't vocalise it. "I mean, your positioning ping was on our secure channel, they wouldn't have caught _that_."

Starscream gave him a challenging glare. "I don't know, you've been having issues with keeping your mouth shut recently, if I recall right."

"Hey, _hey_!" Skywarp hitched his wings, irritably. "Don't you go trying to blame this on _me_! Why the frag would _I_ have told them where you were?"

"Well, it seems a bit convenient that they picked up on my earlier conversation with you. The shortest, most woefully underpowered radio transmission in the history of Seeker communications, and they _still_ managed to pick up on it?" Starscream challenged, maintaining a wobbly balance on one leg and stabbing a finger for emphasis.

"Well, maybe _you_ should have quit asking all your stupid questions a bit sooner," Skywarp snapped. "Then it would have been even _shorter_."

"Gents, gents…" Forceps pushed them gently apart. "Let's wait until we're back in a slightly less hostile environment before starting to trade punches again, shall we?"

There was a little more hostile glaring, but thankfully both Seekers finally nodded reluctantly, and backed down.

"Skywarp?" She turned to the smouldering teleport. "You good to fly?"

"I guess," he nodded, sulkily. "They just stunned the subdermal controls. I'll be recalibrated properly in a moment or two."

"Good." She nodded. "If you think you can tolerate helping Starscream back into my trailer, we can head off again." She turned to give Silverbolt a brief but meaningful look. "If our friends wouldn't mind flying _with_ us, this time, of course? Just in case."

"We'll keep you covered on the way back," Silverbolt confirmed, with a little nod. "We'll get you back to the _Ark_, _and_ in one piece."


	16. Chapter 15

**Warped - Chapter Fifteen**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** Sorry for the lateness of this update. I have totally not been slacking off, or planning sequels on my LiveJournal, or anything. :shifty eyes: There may be some typoes, because I have stared at this for so long I've gone a bit snowblind.

Additionally! If you haven't yet seen it, please go send lovings towards JillDragon's ficbit:

www . fanfiction . net / s / 4792241 / 1 / Unaccompanied_Minors

I plan on attempting to reference it somewhere in my own scrawlings, somewhere, because it says it better than I could have. ;)

Anyway! I shall shush and stop trying to distract you from my lateness...

* * *

A new sun had just peeked above the horizon when the Aerialbot guard got back, in remarkably high spirits. Air Raid and Slingshot fairly _bubbled _their way down the entrance hall, chattering excitedly and miming shooting, fighting actions as they went. The hubbub attracted half a dozen dozy-faced mechs out into the corridor; either disturbed out of work or disturbed out of recharge, they seemed evenly split between _what's going on?_ and _please will you two shut the Pit up? _They responded with musical jeers of _you're just jea-lous_! Silverbolt followed at a respectable distance behind, apologising to the sporadic angry faces he encountered, soothing rankled moods and generally laying oil.

By the time the next set of voices finally became audible, a breem or two later, the quiet corridors that it would probably have been easy to slip unnoticed through had filled with machines all determined to find out what was going on. The voices were gradually getting louder as their owners advanced down the corridor – two were sufficiently smooth to be indefinable murmurs at this distance, but one was a scratching nasal squawk that couldn't be mistaken for _anyone_ else.

"…be damned if I'm going to watch you lurch your _own _way down here," the deepest of the voices was saying, once its owner was finally close enough to be understood. "It'll take you the whole orn just to cover the distance."

"I don't care! Put me down, damnit-!" the scratching voice countered, irritably. "I am _not_ going to be watched by all those snouty Autobutts being _carried_ like some precious little _sparkling_. _Put me __down__, surgeon_!" Beat. "Are you even listening to me?!"

"Hm? Sorry, I hadn't realised there were _words_ in all that white noise."

Forceps emerged from the entry corridor with a filthy bundle of Starscream-shaped parts in her arms – and despite his protests, the Seeker didn't _look _too unhappy to be being taxied along the corridor. One leg looked like it was little more than a structural spar, and would snap clean through if he tried to put his weight on it. He silenced the twittering peanut gallery with barbed glares as they passed.

One was going to take a little more than just nasty looks to deal with, though. Sunstreaker was among the gathering that had heard something was up, and was lurking meaningfully in the corridor running up to the medical suite. Seeing and having his fears confirmed in full living colour didn't seem to improve his mood, although he didn't get the chance to get much further than his initial outraged splutterings. "Don't you think you've _already_ gone far enough without bringing _him_ in here…?!"

"Oh lay off, Sunshine," Forceps growled, before he'd even finished speaking, and swept past him. "While you keep tweeting about imaginary conspiracies, we can't get any work done."

"_Imaginary_?!" He pursued her down the corridor. "Next thing you're going to be telling me that's actually a clever duplicate and _not _the psychotic leader of the Decepticon Air Force you're carrying along, there!"

"Does paranoia like yours come naturally, or do you have to work at it?"

"I could ask the same about the levels of _naivety _you're displaying! You think you can just… bring him in here, and he'll actually go against all those thousands of Vorns of programming and hatred and _not_ try blowing us all to the Matrix?!"

"…Because he looks in _perfect_ condition to go rampaging around the Ark destroying things right now, of course."

They were almost optic-to-optic by the time they reached the door to the repair bay. Ratchet gave them his best long-suffering look from his desk. "Do you think that just _once_ you could try _not _causing a riot, Sunny?"

"Can you not _see_ this, or something?!" Sunstreaker waved an angry hand at the new arrival. "Am I the only one with even the _smallest_ smidgen of self-preservation?"

Ratchet just watched as Forceps deposited the grumbling heap of spare parts onto the closest berth and inadvertently scattered crumbs of mud all the way around it. "I seem to recall you saying much the same about Skywarp, and yet so far as I can tell he seems to have avoided causing the _Ark _to spontaneously implode."

"More by _luck_, I'd say," Sunstreaker countered, matching glares with the teleport. "At least tell me you're not going to let The Screamer stay _armed_."

"I think Optimus should have the final judgement on that, don't you? Go take your concerns to him, if you're so worried."

Sunstreaker didn't sound impressed, but went obediently; Skywarp watched him leave, warily. "Shouldn't someone be keeping an eye on him?"

"The fact _you_ raise the Pit when you're unattended doesn't mean _all_ unruly machines need a constant watch on them," Starscream deadpanned, tiredly, accepting a flask of energon from the Autobot medic.

"Yeah, but that's one of the _twins_…!"

"Congratulations, air commander," Ratchet deadpanned, doing a brief orbit of the berth and trying to work out which was the least filthy place to use as the diagnostic's start point. "You've managed to get yourself even dirtier than Skywarp was when we dragged his aft in here."

Skywarp smirked at him from a distance and thumbed his nose; Starscream glared daggers back in reply, but didn't argue the fact. Under the stark white artificial lights of the _Ark_, and against the scrubbed-clean surfaces of the medical suite, it only emphasised just _how_ filthy his plating really was. "I think you'll find that wasn't actually _my fault_," he defended himself into his energon, sulkily. "If I could have _avoided _all the wallowing in the mud, I would have. Unfortunately, certain people," he shot a barbed look at Skywarp, "have trouble keeping their mouths shut."

Skywarp's grin promptly inverted into a glower. "I _told you_ already-" he started, but Footloose was just in the right place to plant a tiny hand onto his lips.

"Not make angry?" she asked, giving him that wide-eyed look that seemed designed solely to melt a machine's resolve. "Need to make fix, not unhappies."

He sighed and settled on the worktop. "Yeah. Not to mention, those Autobutts will _love_ to watch us fighting…"

_If nothing else, we'll have to keep the little one around purely because she has the knack of getting Warp to shut up,_ Starscream considered, uncharitably, finishing his energon and cycling cool air to keep his pumps from overloading in the frantic way they pulsed it through his body. So long spent so exhausted, it was like the fuel itself had a sparkle and clarity it usually lacked.

Energon was only one of the matters that needed resolving, however. _Yuck_. He wrinkled his face into a moue of displeasure. "Sepp?" He used a thumb to attempt to rub some of the dirt off his forearm, and only succeeded in spreading it further around him. "Before you get too set in with the repairs, do you think you could make it possible for me to have a bath first?"

"You're covered in little fractures," she argued, shaking her head and not looking up from her careful manipulations to release connectors that held the remains of his left thruster in place. "You'll probably short out if you get wet."

"I will and I have," he confirmed. "But a little silicone should seal them off, right?"

She glanced up, as if trying to gauge his honesty, and narrowed her optics at him; he managed to pull off a sufficiently beaten-puppy expression that her shoulders sagged and she sighed, defeated. "All right. Just let me finish this and get a temporary replacement attached, and I'll see what I can sort out. If these two troublemakers are anything to go by? You're at your most unbearable when you're dirty, so getting you bathed will help _me_ in the long run."

Starscream shot Skywarp a look. "What exactly does she mean by _that_, Warp?" he wondered, dangerously.

Footloose replied for him, from her usual perch on Skywarp's shoulder. "Said how likes to make bath, Unnol," she chirped. "Am silly."

"_Silly_ for valuing my personal hygiene?"

"Yes! Makes much time wasted."

Skywarp was nodding sagely in agreement.

"Because our lives are ephemeral enough that spending a little time looking after what we look like makes a single iota of difference, of course," Starscream growled, but let it drop. He probably _did_ obsess over cleanliness just a little bit. Besides, arguing over the merits of bathing meant he didn't have to look too hard at the shredded remainder of his thruster complex as Forceps finally succeeded in untangling the broken cables and placed the filthy component down on the trolley next to the berth. There really _was _very little of it actually left. He set his jaw, angrily. Slagging Ramjet. He was _so _going to reap the whirlwind for _that._

The temporary replacement part Forceps had cadged off Ratchet was reasonably well-matched in terms of size and colouration, but that was as far as it went – roughly the same weight, and a slightly more purplish shade of blue than his regal tones, but just short enough that it'd give him a slightly lopsided walk, and _very_ ground-pounding in looks. It had _not _been designed to complement the flier aesthetic, with its heavy-looking alloys and solid, blocky angles.

"You _are_ trying to turn us Autobot by stealth," the red Seeker observed, dryly, watching as the surgeon carefully fixed it into place. "What's next, a nice lumbering pair of wheels to go along with it?"

"I _would_ say you could at least _attempt_ to be grateful that we're wasting good quality spare parts on you," Ratchet groused. "But I know it's not in your nature, so instead I'll just offer to remove it again, with a blunt saw."

Starscream wrinkled his nose, but backed down. "Not necessary. I suppose I appreciate being self-mobile again enough to mumble my thanks, when you're not listening," he replied, airily, testing his weight on the repair. It was clumsy, but serviceable. At very least, it beat using a bit of wood as a crutch _any_ day.

"All right, well, park your aft so I can unclip these…"

A hand brushed almost absent-mindedly across one null-ray, but the reaction was like someone had stabbed a heatlance down between armour plating and into a sensitive joint. Starscream virtually _leaped _around, hands flexing into fists. "You're _not _taking my weapons off," he hissed, darkly, unconsciously shrinking back into a slight crouch, ready to fight.

"Only for the duration of your bath," Ratchet promised, hands up in surrender, startled at the unneeded severity of the reaction. "Null-raying yourself because they short out while you're getting clean sounds like a pretty stupid thing to do just because you were too proud-"

"Too self-respecting!"

"-_too proud_ to let me take them off you for a few breems."

"How do you expect me to defend myself?!"

"I don't _expect_ you to need to! You're going to have a _bath_, for Primus sake, not going into a warzone."

"For Screamer, the two are one and the same," Skywarp quipped.

"No, Warp, you're mixing up _my_ bathtime and those few times TC and I have foolishly attempted to bath _you_," Starscream cut back. "It's a point of pride, for you, isn't it? The ability to be a living dust-trap."

"Pssh. Just because I have better things to do than spend all my time trying _not_ to drown my temperature regulator…"

0o0o0o0o0

Footloose had never really understood the obsession certain mechs had with making bath. It seemed an unnecessary waste of both time and resources – being a little bit grubby didn't hinder a machine's ability to do stuff, after all. So long as all your joints moved freely, so what if your exterior was a little smeary?

_Most_ machines "bathed" with a solvent-based cleanser or sonic devices, or both – water was rare on Cybertron, to start with (although Ausep _always_ managed to find enough when it came to bathing naughty sparklings), and quick-drying solvents were better on sensitive surfaces, didn't lead to _rust_. Starscream was so caked in filth, however, the only way he was going to make any headway was to use soap and water; he was in the low tub, right now, using a foaming detergent to wash most of the caked-on mud off.

Footloose was perched on the rim of the pool like a brightly-coloured gargoyle, using a long brush to help scrub the grime out of Starscream's least-damaged calf. At least, that had been the _original_ idea, she had rapidly lost interest in helping and was instead splashing him with foaming handfuls of detergent, seeing how much she could get onto his faceplates before he got annoyed and swiped it off.

…predictably, he was not tolerating her silliness very well. "Look, if you don't stop splashing me, I _will_ dunk you," he threatened, waving a large blue finger under her small nose. "And I know how much you love baths."

She eyeballed the finger, closely, and gave it a little scrub with her brush. "Is better?"

"Nnngh." He cast his gaze skywards and went back to working over his shoulder-vent. "Doctor, how much longer?"

"Does it really matter?" Ratchet wondered distractedly, from behind; he was trying valiantly to assess the new seals they'd installed purely so the scarlet ingrate could get clean without shorting out, and all the water that was getting splashed about was interfering with his scans. "You know, if you just sat still for _thirty astro-seconds_… Huh. Shouldn't be much longer."

"Good. Then you can take _this_ troublemaker away with you."

"Hm? No, I don't think so," Ratchet argued, distractedly. "She's just being helpful, and of course, if she's with _you_, she's not getting under my feet and disrupting all _my_ work."

Starscream glared irritably down at Footloose; foiled. She squeaked up at him and splashed water into his face again, so he put out a hand and flipped her casually into the bubbles at the far end. She surfaced spluttering water out of her vents and indignantly squawking _no bath, no bath!_

"I told you I'd dunk you, so stop misbehaving," he told her, as she scaled his knees, dripping wet. "Now be quiet and let me talk to the doctor."

She vibrated air over her vents in a disgusted raspberry, and teleported herself up to the drying rails. "No bath," she huffed, snuggling into a corner and folding her arms sulkily.

"All right," Ratchet allowed, at last, grudgingly. "Those water seals we replaced all look fairly patent, and the silicone is keeping the water out of everywhere else. You should be safe to use the solvent cleanser once you're done playing."

"Does this mean I get to finally have my bath in peace?"

Ratchet gave him a dirty look. "Yes, it does," he confirmed. "Ingrate." He sneakily flipped a handful of bubbles into the Seeker's face as he stood, and smiled, satisfied at the spluttering indignation that followed him out of the bathing suite.

Peace reigned for a full three breems. There were plenty of double-takes from the Autobots at seeing the (former) Decepticon aerial commander in their washracks, but nobody outright challenged him – not many even went _near_ him, and those who _did_ get as far as entering his field of vision got glared at sufficiently hotly to want to make a fairly speedy departure. He might not be _armed_ but no-one considered he'd be any less dangerous. Well, no-one except…

"Hello Sighswipe and Suneaker!" Starscream heard Footloose chirp, from somewhere in the background. He paused, instantly suspicious, and focussed his hearing behind himself. Were they sneaking up on him? He'd not heard any footsteps-

He knew he should have moved the instant Footloose had spoken, but guessed even that millisecond of warning wouldn't have _quite_ been enough, particularly not in _this_ run-down state. Even as he was turning his head to challenge the approaching Autobots, two pairs of hands planted firmly down on his shoulders and shoved him under the surface.

0o0o0o0o0

Footloose was anxious. Thus far she'd gone fairly well unnoticed in her little corner, up by the big dessicators and the warm air vents, and had quickly got herself comfortably dried out. As an added bonus, the drying rails were cosy and nicely high up, even if they _were_ warm enough to make her feel sluggish. She could sit here and watch the other machines come and go; Starscream had been given a fairly wide berth by everyone, thus far, but he ignored the slight and just got on with scrubbing mud out of his venting.

Thus, Footloose had sat and watched as the Autobot twins approached through the doorway. They were jostling at each other, like her uncles did when they were winding each other up, but this didn't look like _friendly_ shoving. And they were glaring and gesturing silently at each other, which made her think they were arguing over their internal pings. What were they upset about? They made their stealthy way to the pool, ignoring her friendly little chirp of hello, crouched behind Sta'zim, then dunked him, just like he'd done to her a few breems before.

At first she thought – _hoped_ – they were just being silly. It was the only way making bath was tolerable, after all, having someone around to lark about with! Even if Starscream was a bit of a stuck-in-the-mud (literally) and got grumbly when she tried to play in the bubbles. She waited for them to step back and let him up, and the Seeker's usual growly scolding. And waited. And waited.

She hummed an increasingly-anxious little harmonic to herself, and fidgeted. This didn't _look_ playful, the two Autobots had serious faces and were quiet with effort. And Starscream was certainly _not_ playing – he'd turned the bath into a threshing maelstrom of frothing water in his efforts to fend them off, his feet kicking out at nothing and his clawing hands flailing for purchase down the sides, but he was still weak and all his efforts were just going towards adding more striking blue paint transfers all down the tiled surrounds of the bath.

_Better get help_, she decided, at last, frightened. The thrashing was getting weaker, and they _still_ hadn't let him up-… She stepped off the rails and into a teleport mid-fall, landing with a muted _thump _on the padded floor.

There was Ausep, frowning and studying a ski-… schee-… picture of a Seeker leg. Wasn't doing anything important, she could help! She ported herself urgently all the way up to the surgeon's big shoulder.

"Ausep? Ausep! Come, come!" she pleaded, yanking at the sides of the big femme's air-filters. "Must help, must help!"

"All right, Button, easy with the tugging," Forceps winced and plucked the sparkling off her shoulders, setting her down on the workbench; Footloose promptly wrapped herself around the surgeon's arm and tried to pull her along after her. "What's got you so upset? Has Starscream sprung a leak?"

"Sighswipe and Suneaker not making play!" Footloose mewed, frantically, still trying to drag her along. "Want to make hurt, Ausep, must stop!"

"Wait, wait. Say that again, Footloose?" Forceps put on the brakes, and leaned down a little closer. "Slower, all right? What is going on?"

"In baths." Footloose pointed in the vague direction of the washracks. "Must come _now_, Ausep-"

Sending the little one back was risky – but the surgeon had faith it was Starscream and him _only _that the twins were after. Besides, if they knew they had an audience, they might just rethink things… "All right, Button, you go keep an eye on things, I'll get Day. All right?" she suggested, carefully. "We'll be along in just a moment."

Footloose didn't need telling twice; she nodded and was gone in a flicker of violet. Instantaneous relocation didn't help a machine be more patient, however…

Where was Ausep, where _was _she?! Footloose hopped from foot to foot in the doorway, anxiously, and stamped a foot. She was being too slow, too _slow_!

…there was only one thing for it. She was going to have to use the best weapon she had.

Herself.

0o0o0o0o0

The thin streamers of bubbles coming up to the surface had slowed almost to stopping when Sideswipe removed his hands from the tub and sat up.

Sunstreaker shot him a glare. "What have you stopped for?! This might be our only chance to finally get rid of him, here… We've avoided getting any of his paint transferred to us, and if anyone asks, we knew nothing-"

The blue fingers had slowed their frantic scrabbling against the sides of the tub but were still moving, feebly, and there was still a very thin sporadic stream of bubbles coming to the surface. If they flooded his insides with enough watery detergent, his temperature regulator would overheat and he'd pass out; if he stayed underwater for long enough, relays would start to burn out, pumps would seize, his spark would destabilise…

"Well, uh, you know," Sideswipe replied, almost apologetically. "I was, uh, trying to think how to explain what murder was, without it sounding too bad."

At last, Sunstreaker glanced up, and found Sideswipe had his arms full of sparkling. Correction, arms full of _very upset_, leaky-optic'ed, whimpery sparkling. Slag; his shoulders sagged. Killing the fragger was one thing, but doing it in full view of the little one? That'd mess her up even worse than having these psychos for family, the memory of seeing him killed right in front of her. He finally relaxed his hold and after a moment their intended victim emerged from under the water in a spluttering rush of soapsuds, vents _whoop_ing for air.

"Why doing that?" Footloose asked, at last, making sure her best, largest, most appealing eyes were turned full on the yellow twin. "Making hurt?"

"Aw, we were just playing, right, Screamer?" Sunstreaker gave the Seeker a 'friendly' pat on the shoulder vent that almost sent him sprawling straight back under the water. "No harm done!"

"Right," Starscream spluttered, gasping to get _air_ back into his temperature bellows and all the water _out_ of his fuel lines. "Just like I'm going to be 'playing' when I switch all your energon for _liquid explosives_."

There was a flicker of molecules and Skywarp _finally_ appeared – too late to help, but eager to make up lost time. He had barely materialised fully before launching into the offensive – arms up, fingers curling into claws, roaring his engines and crashing into Sunstreaker before the other machine could scramble to a counter-offensive. His weight sent both sprawling across the floor, plates grinding together with a hideous squealing noise.

"You like it so much in here, how about I make sure your last sight is of the place?!" Skywarp snarled, and applied his thumbs to Sunstreaker's optics, dropping his weight square down on his arms.

Sunstreaker howled and thrashed under the jet's weight, gouged a set of brilliant yellow lines down his arms in his attempts to throw him off before he blinded him altogether.

Sideswipe had been startled into temporary immobility by the suddenness of Skywarp's attack, but was finally bringing himself to what looked like a response, ejecting Footloose from his arms and gathering his feet underneath himself. Starscream narrowed his optics, not about to let the pair of them trounce his wing-mate as well, and made a weak but determined lunge at Sideswipe, while the red twin's attention was elsewhere; they clattered to the floor, the jet's greater mass giving him just the advantage to keep his target pinned.

There was a clatter of sound from the corridor and finally the pursuing groundlings caught up with the maddened teleport. Red Alert led the pack, followed by Bluestreak and Ironhide, then Ratchet, and Forceps at the back of the group, cursing her lack of speed.

"Oh, _please_ not another riot-" Red Alert groaned, dragging Bluestreak behind him. "Whose idea was it not to keep them all locked in separate rooms?"

Taking an arm each, Red Alert and Bluestreak managed to wrestle the Seeker off his prey before he could punch his thumbs right through Sunstreaker's optics. Skywarp wailed inarticulately in anger and thrashed about, but they'd got a good secure hold on his arms and trapped them against his wings, so the only thing he had to fight back was his feet, which he was already tottering unsteadily on, pulled back over his centre of gravity and off balance.

"…you are _so_ gonna pay for that," Sunstreaker swore, softly, under his breath, tottering to his feet, fists balled.

Skywarp looked unimpressed. He set his jaw and tensed his arms, and the instant his opponent was close enough used his captors as a launchpad for a kick; both thrustered heels came out like a piledriver and planted solidly into Sunstreaker's chest, sending him staggering backwards, doubled over.

"Primus, Red, are you slagging well helping _me_ or _him_?" Sunstreaker howled, his voice a twisted mixture of anger and pain.

"Stand back, Sunny," Ironhide suggested, pushing past. "Show you how a _real_ mech does it."

"Whatsamatter, _Arnhaard_?" Skywarp jeered, still trying to free his arms. "Not had enough chances to punch the defenceless among you, yet? Want another chance at it?"

"Why you-"

"Enough," a new voice boomed, softly, and the room fell still.

Well, everyone except Skywarp. The teleport seized his chance and straightened his legs, delivering a single piledriver kick to Ironhide's throat; the big Autobot's groan was horribly loud in the sudden silence, and he crumpled backwards, clutching his jaw. Murky grey-green joint lubricant quickly pooled at the top margin to his chassis and drew a smeary line down his windscreen.

"I said _enough_," Optimus repeated, evenly, but lowering his voice, which only made him sound angrier. Like a volcano, seething quietly inside.

This time, even Skywarp took heed of the command. He glowered and stopped struggling, slumped his weight down so Red Alert and Bluestreak were suddenly supporting his entire bulk. Their _oof!s_ of surprise were _almost_ as satisfying as the shock in that big red idiot's expression when his heel had connected with his big ugly face.

"This is ridiculous. You four," Optimus waved a hand to encompass the two Seekers and the Autobot twins, "will remain here. The rest of you? Just…" He shook his head, irritated at all the twittering observers. "Out. I'm quite capable of dealing with this without needing input from every single resident."

Bluestreak went without too much complaint; Red Alert took more persuading, but finally backed out, unhappy with the situation but obedient. Ratchet got himself under the groaning Ironhide's arm and helped him out, giving the two fliers a collective glare as he passed.

The remaining four – five if you counted Forceps, who was trying to check the mostly-flooded Starscream – settled disgruntledly and quietly and awaited their lambasting. Sunstreaker had thin streamers of fluid trailing down from his fractured optics; although it was simply visual cleanser leaking from the damaged substructure, it _did_ look a lot like tears, and that was making the Autobot doubly infuriated.

Skywarp canted sideways and murmured in Sunstreaker's audio, _just_ loud enough for everyone else to hear; "Hey, Autobot? Listen, I'm sorry I made you cry. I can ask Screamer to lend you his towel if you need a hankie."

Sideswipe managed to grab hold of him just in time; Sunstreaker gave a strangled noise of fury and struggled in his twin's restraining hands.

"All right. I was hoping it wouldn't have to come down to this, but since all four of you are behaving worse than the _actual_ sparkling…" Optimus sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "If I hear of _one more riot_ – and I don't care _who_ started it – whoever is involved will find themselves sharing habitation in the brig. _Whoever survives_ can come out after ten orns. If you manage to succeed in killing each other, well, at least it'll save Prowl some headaches. Is that understood?"

There were reluctant mutterings of agreement from both parties, and more of those angry if-looks-could-kill faces, but the twins departed without any further argument. Skywarp glared after them and managed a single step after them before a wall of red and blue blocked his way.

"As for _you_," Optimus faced the smaller machine down. "You are _already_ on shaky ground. The fact I spoke up for you in the past few days does not absolve you of a need to behave yourself. And damnit, if I hear you are the instigator of any more riots? I will personally see to it that you are put into stasis for the remainder of your stay here. Is that understood?"

"Be nice if there was a little consistency in command, here," Skywarp sniped back, sourly, folding his arms. "Your idiot twins try to murder Starscream, and get let off with a bit of nagging. I try to defend my wingmate, and ooh look, lucky me, threatened with the brig and being offlined _again-_"

"I understand that you're angry, and I understand _why_," Optimus interrupted, irritably; he looked like he was struggling not to give in to temptation and smack him one. "That doesn't mean you have the free licence to do what you like in vengeance. As I understand it, Starscream was already out of danger when you ploughed in. So all your actions have done is mean that instead of having to punish _two_ unruly mechs, I have to somehow work out how to discipline you four, _and _the other five or six you dragged into this mess, without looking like I'm playing favouritism either way."

Skywarp muttered quietly.

"Do we understand each other?" Optimus pushed.

"Yes, _sir_," Skywarp overemphasised the latter part and made it abundantly clear he wasn't remotely happy or prepared to respect him, but the affirmative seemed to satisfy Optimus for now. The teleport made faces and used his hand to make _blah-blah_ gestures behind his back, before turning back to his wingmate.

"Are you all right?" he wondered, uneasily, absently gathering Footloose up off the floor before she could trip him up, and watching as Forceps tried to manipulate the red Seeker into the best position to drain himself.

"Of course I'm… _hcck…_ of course I'm all right," Starscream spluttered, angrily, although the dirty water and foam that was still frothing from his vents rather spoiled the illusion. "Silly idiot, piling into the fray far too _late_-… _hcck_!... to be _useful. _And as for _you,_ just-… get off me, _surgeon_."

Forceps kept her hands on his shoulders, anyway, until the steady trickle of water from his vents slowed to just drips, and the bubbling wheeze was gone from his air-conditioning. "Are you too badly flooded in there?" she probed, gently.

"Nothing an _orn or two_ in the drying racks wouldn't fix," he grumbled, darkly, spitting out another cupful of water. "Ugh. And a half dozen sachets of dessicant."

"See, making bath is dangerous," Footloose whispered to Skywarp. "Not to have any more please…?"

0o0o0o0o0

Siphon had made a big point of vanishing away to run one of his mysterious errands when Deuce slipped through the doorway with the usual two murky brown cubes of doctored energon. "I tried not to put too much sedation in them," he said, quietly, as Thundercracker came up alongside to take one of them. "He at least trusts me to do that much, but if you let on that you're not so out of it as you should be? He'll go back to doing it himself."

"Thank you." Thundercracker stared down into the tainted fuel, and wondered exactly what he was thanking him for; it looked more like a cube of polluted river water than energon, and was about as good for them.

Deuce nodded, and moved back towards the doorway.

"One last thing." Thundercracker put out a hand and caught the truck's arm before he could vanish altogether.

Deuce made a valiant effort not to look as scared as he felt, but still cowered back, away from the restraining fingers around his wrist. "Wh-what?" he squeaked.

"While Siphon's not here. Can you get her out?"

Deuce followed Thundercracker's gaze to the broken femme curled and silent in the corner. "…beg pardon?"

"Pulsar. Can you get her out?" Thundercracker gave him a hard look. "I think you know how the collars work."

"I can't, I can't-" Deuce's words had shrunk to little barely-audible whimperings. "Siphon will know it was me-"

"You and I both know," Thundercracker said, softly enough that the subject of conversation wouldn't be able to hear him, "that if we don't get her out within the next few orns, it'll be too late. I can look after Seem, I know Siphon doesn't intend any harm towards him, because he'd have done it already if he did – but you have to get Pulse out."

"But he's not going to kill-"

"That's not the point. Just _look_." The Seeker sounded like he was at the point of losing patience. "Look at what the three of us have done to her already. What _else_ do you imagine he'll have me do, while I'm too drugged up and insensible to know the difference?"

"D-does it matter to you, _Decepticon_?" Deuce stammered, cringing. "I'm s-sure you've done _worse_-"

"So tell me, you miserable, snivelling excuse for sentience," Thundercracker snarled, his voice a harsh whisper to avoid disturbing the others, keeping the truck pinned by his shoulders. "What exactly is your damn motivation? It's not loyalty to your employer, and it's not any misplaced concern for any of us. It's _certainly _not any affection for her, and you almost had me tricked into thinking there was a teeny, tiny spark there between you! So what is it, huh? Just want to make sure you're guaranteed your next fix?"

Deuce cowered away. "That's not fair."

"So _tell _me. Primus! And they have the nerve to call _me_ indecisive," the jet glared down on him. "We can't help each other if we don't know what each others' problems are."

Deuce hesitated for several long moments before finally speaking; it was as if he saw Thundercracker as the far more immediate danger than Siphon. "I got d-dragged into this by b-being in the wrong place at the wrong time," he protested, shakily. "M-my personality has always led me into bad d-decisions, and now I can't g-get _out_ of this one. D-do you think I _want _to see what Siphon is doing to you three? I want-… he just-… he has my medicine, and he scares me more than you do." He hesitated, refusing to meet the hostile crimson glare. "I was well-controlled at the hospital. I even felt-… _normal_, sometimes. Then along came _Siphon_… and I'm back to teetering on the edge." He finally glanced up, pleadingly. "I don't want to go back to prison, and I don't want to go back to being _crazy_, so I just… I do what he tells me. I don't want to, I just… what other choice have I got?"

Thundercracker stepped back, and let the other machine up. "I know you're scared," he accepted, more gently. "But we're not going to get out of this unless we all pull in the same direction. And we have to get a message out. You little comms wafer isn't strong enough to get a long enough signal out for the guys to pick up before that crackpot tanker squelches it and sedates me back into an incoherent mush, so we're going to have to get a _somebody_ out."

"And you th-think she's the best choice?"

"I don't know," Thundercracker admitted, sadly. "I want to get Seem out, but if I do? I know Siphon will take it out on the weakest one here – and that's Pulsar. She stands half a chance at surviving, if we can get her out in the next few orns."

"I don't know if I can get her collar off," Deuce admitted, defeatedly. "But I can see if Siphon has any schematics anywhere…"

Thundercracker settled in the corner and gathered Pulsar into his lap; she struggled very feebly, tried to push him away, but she was barely strong enough or _awake _enough to lift her own limbs, let alone fight him off. "Ssh, steady," he soothed, manipulating the smaller cube to her mouth. "I just want to get some energon into you. All right?"

She spluttered weakly as the first sip went into the wrong intake, but soon settled.

"That's a good girl. Easy does it…" He glanced up to find Deuce had frozen in the doorway. "_Now_ what?"

"Field won't go down," the truck observed, hollowly, putting out a hand and watching the lilac forcefield fizz painfully against his palm.

"Is that so important? Siphon will be back soon enough."

Deuce gave them an anxious look and rubbed his arms. "I need my medicine," he argued, hollowly. "He tricked me. He tricked me! I don't know how long he's going to be gone but it'll have worn off by then, for definite…"


	17. Chapter 16

**Warped - Chapter Sixteen**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** I've tried to incorporate some of the ideas people have made into my notes – very good points that I missed when I was fighting my writers' block. ;)

Unhhh sorry for the delays. I have been, how can I put it… distracted.

* * *

Sunstreaker was fuming, pacing, unable to quite find a way to sum up the true depth of his anger. In the aftermath of their attempt on the Screaming One's life, he and Sideswipe had been comprehensively put through the mill by Prowl and forced to _apologise_ to those two underclocked Airheads, and now he was brewing the mother of all bad tempers. (At least, and Optimus silently thanked Primus for the small blessing, he wasn't _yelling_, just yet.)

"…It was bad enough when it was just a dirty, unarmed Skywarp lurking like bad vapours around the medical suite," he snapped. "Now we've got the second in command for the entire Decepticon army in our base, and instead of deporting him to Cybertron for war crimes, we're _mollycoddling _him, like some sort of freaking… naughty _pet_!"

"Sunny… I can't help but think you're still missing the point." Optimus pinched the prow of his nose. It felt as if they'd been manoeuvring around this circular conversation for the last cycle and they didn't seem to be any closer to the end at all.

"So enlighten me! Any other day I would have been _lauded_ for trying to off the Shrieker, what makes today any different? I saw an opportunity, and I took it!"

"…'any other day' we may have actively been fighting him, not letting a political refugee take a bath in our washracks."

"Of course, we're still labouring the whole 'poor little beaten-up Seekers' thing, aren't we?"

"Sunny-…"

"So, I don't know, maybe you know something we don't. How long do you think it'll be before we go _back _to actively fighting him?"

"I don't know how long it'll be, Sunny. What I know for sure is that if you attack him out of the blue like that again, it might be the trigger that pushes him back into the enemy camp – and he might elect to take the little one back with him!"

Sunstreaker was silent for several irritable moments.

"You never know," Optimus went on, in the silence. "Recent developments may just have given them the perspective they've been lacking. Although I very much doubt we'll end the war altogether, this might be our opportunity to remove three major players from it, without the breaking of so much as a single actuator cable."

"Orr this might all be yet another big, cleverly orchestrated trick. Primus, Optimus, when did you get so _naïve_? You _know_ what Screamer's like!" Sunstreaker threw his arms up in despair. "They're probably here purely to weasel information out of us! And what do you think they're going to do once they're done with their little information-gathering exercise? Perhaps, I don't know, they'll suddenly decide hey, actually they don't _want _the 'political asylum' any more, shoot the Pit out of us while our unsuspecting, trusting backs are turned, and run away back to Megs and his cronies with full details of the inner workings of the _Ark_!"

"Strange though it may be for you to consider," Optimus argued, quietly, "just perhaps? This is genuine. You saw what he looked like when they brought him in. That Megatron's trickery may stretch as far as shooting his own second-in-command out of the sky, I have no doubt at all. And that Starscream might end up going back to the Decepticons like he always has in the past I also accept is not completely outside the bounds of possibility. But this doesn't read like _trickery_, to me – especially as Skywarp came to us first."

"…hmph. Fair point. I can't imagine him coping with a plan as complex as that without someone holding his hand the whole way," Sunstreaker grumbled, in acknowledgement.

Optimus nodded. "What they do between then and now – and how much classified information they give us on the inner workings of the Decepticons – is entirely dependent on how _we_ treat them," he finished, softly. "I'm not asking that we suddenly try and become _friends_ with them – just exercise a little civility."

"What you mean is you've fallen for this vat of old smeltings they've put before you," Sunstreaker challenged, softly. "The little one hasn't magically turned them into paragons of virtue. _Even now_ they're probably plotting behind our backs. And I have no desire whatsoever to be involved in the fallout from it!"

0o0o0o0o0

Down in the comparative privacy of one of the siderooms in the medical suite, the two Seekers were plotting, exactly as Sunstreaker had feared. Fortunately, for once their plotting was geared not towards the Autobots, but more important things.

"Hey, Screamer?" Skywarp leaned across the table and watched as Starscream carefully removed the casing on the handheld laser pistol he'd 'borrowed' off Ironhide (without the big Autobot's notice or permission). "Since you're not gonna be flying anywhere for a while, how about you look after Lucy while I get to looking for TC?"

Starscream gave him a hard look. "I don't think that's a good idea, do you? To start with, you're still unarmed-"

"Oh, like _that's_ gonna take you and Sepp a long time to fix-"

"_And_ what if you need backup? You'll be a third of the way around this miserable mud-ball, at minimum!"

"Oh, psh. I don't need backup, I can fly rings around those idiots!"

"…like you did _last_ time, of course." Starscream looked unimpressed, getting back to work; he had one of his own null-rays opened up on the desk, and was trying to match the collimators and focusing crystals with the parts he'd butchered out of his misappropriated stash of Ironhide's weapons. "The answer is still no, Warp. You're not going anywhere until _I'm_ back in flying condition and can go with you, and _you're_ re-armed so you can defend my back if we need it. All right?"

Skywarp huffed his annoyance. "Aw come on. Screamer? I know we've been acting like 'em recently? But I am _not_ some little sparkling who needs his hand held," he sniped back. "And I'm going to look for TC."

Starscream managed to catch his arm before he could stomp out of reach, and shook his head silently when Skywarp gave him a frustrated glare. "We go together, or not at all," he said, quietly. "It was not watching our tailfins that got us into this mess in the first place. If TC and I had gone together, we may have outmanoeuvred them and never been shot down in the first place." He gave Skywarp a serious look, and noticed that the teleport was visibly deflating, his eagerness to be out and hunting going flat. "Megatron is a lot closer to the wire than we can know. I don't know how, but he knows what we're going to do almost as soon as we think of it ourselves." His features hardened. "In fact? I'm _almost_ willing to say I think Megatron knows where TC is."

Skywarp's expression had by now gone from annoyed to anxious. "_Primus_. If he gets to him first, Screamer-…!"

"I know, I know. We'll have to co-operate or it's 'bye bye TC'." Starscream rubbed his helm, tiredly. "And by _co-operate_ I mean 'hand over everything of value and accept your slagging _gracefully_'."

"Well he's not having Lucy; I'll leave her here with the Auto-dorks before letting that big idiot get his hands on her." Skywarp had voiced the sentiment before really realising what he was saying.

For once, Starscream didn't challenge the 'woolly-headed over-sentiment'. "Perhaps it won't come to that. We don't even know for sure… that he even has him," he pondered, quietly, in that tone of voice that suggested he was cooking something up. "I mean, he's not once gloated that he has them, correct? So… I wonder if we shouldn't try contact him. See if we can trick him into giving anything away."

"Oh right, and how are you suggesting we do _that_? Come on, the _Ark_ is way too heavily screened for our personal arrays to get a message out, and I'll bet they have extra damping baffles in place specially for us."

"I wasn't thinking we use our own communicators, as such-"

"Yeah, because using _Autobot_ communications facilities is _totally_ gonna throw him off the scent," Skywarp scoffed, and folded his arms, glaring tiredly. "Not like they're gonna let us use their comms room in the first place." He paused, thoughtfully. "Mind you, it's just one little Auto-dork in there. If we get the jump on him-"

"I think we should play this by the book," Starscream demurred. "They don't need any more excuses to lock us up after that little… _ruction_, earlier."

"Hey, those moron twins started _that_!"

"True, true, but we don't want to give them any more excuses to 'start' anything else. That apology earlier wasn't so much _grudging _as _forced_ – it looked like they'd have preferred to have all their main actuators superglued."

"It was funny, though." Skywarp's optics twinkled wickedly.

Starscream's lips twitched into a badly-restrained smirk. "Oh, it was certainly _that_…"

0o0o0o0o0

For several long moments, Red Alert just stood and stared at the unlikely group of machines in front of him, looking most discomfited at the idea that had just been presented. "You are suggesting," he said, slowly, giving Optimus a long, incredulous stare, "that we not only allow these two to use the communications facility… but we allow them to do so in private… _and_ contact _Megatron_?" He turned his aghast glare onto the two Seekers. "What sort of idiots do you take us for?"

"It's all right, Red," Optimus soothed, before Skywarp could jump in with an insult and things escalated into another riot. "I didn't say you couldn't monitor the transmission, just that I'd rather you weren't in the same room. It'll already be delicate, and you have a tendency to, ah… overreact."

"But _Optimus_, these are valid security concerns-!"

"Red? I trust that you will keep us safe. If you sense the conversation is going where it shouldn't, you can pull the plug on it." Optimus lowered his voice. "Our fellow Autobots seem to be missing the significance of this situation," he explained, softly. "We have two powerful _former_ Decepticons among us, right now. How long they stay, and what secrets they give us will be entirely down to how _we_ treat _them_."

Red Alert fidgeted, unhappily. "I can understand that, but… it just…"

Listening in, Starscream could hear the opportunity slipping away. "All right. If you're concerned about us conspiring while we're in private, what if I were to, ah, volunteer the same?" he suggested, carefully. "And have Warp stay with Red Alert?"

"What? Hey! That's not fair!" Warp bridled. "You can't keep me out of this, Screamer, they're _my_ little ones and I'm going to give Megs a _piece of my frickin' mind_."

"Well, that shouldn't take too long, should it?" Starscream deadpanned, irritably. "Just… for once can't you do something without arguing it all the way there?" Over their private communications relay, he pinged the additional request; -_just go with him, Warp, going to try something_-

-_not kicking me out, Screamer!_-

-_need you to go so he can't kill the transmission, Warp_- Starscream gave him a tired glower. -_already be dicey without Autodorks jumping too soon_-

There was a distinct pause before the return ping. -_gonna trick Megs?_-

-_try to. So go with Red? Sit in the annexe or something_-

Skywarp glared back at his wingmate but nodded, just once. -_better work or your aft is totally getting kicked_- he pinged, irritably, following Red Alert out into the corridor.

Starscream settled in front of the terminal, cast his gaze despairingly heavenwards, and waited for the grumbling voices in the monitoring annexe to go quiet before opening the channel.

"Starscream," Megatron gritted out, not quite able to hide his displeasure. "How _nice_ it is to once again hear your dulcet tones."

Starscream wasn't about to beat about the bush. "Where is Thundercracker?" he demanded, sourly, before Megatron had even finished his own sentence.

There was a pause at the other end of the line – only the most fractional one, but enough to show the warlord had been caught wrong-footed. "No demand for apologies, Starscream? Are you perhaps going _soft_-"

"I'm not interested in that right now. I can bludgeon an apology out of you later. I want to know where my wingmate is."

"…remind me why this is a fact that should matter to me?"

"I'm not interested in playing your idiot mind-games, Megatron."

"Trust me, indulging your paranoia is very low on my agenda. If you were a little less _cryptic_, perhaps we'd get a little further-"

"So help me Megatron, if you don't tell me where he is-!"

"You'll do _what_, precisely?" the tyrant interrupted, disinterestedly. "Stamp those pretty little blue heels and try to _whine_ an answer out of me? Or – ah, heh – get the _Autobots_ to help out?"

Now was Starscream's turn to hesitate. "I don't know what power you think you have over me by reminding me I'm a prisoner here-"

"Oh, is _that_ what they're calling it these days?"

"They have my _wings_ and they have my _weapons_. I take no pleasure in being cooped up in here with _the enemy_-!"

"And yet they allow you to use their communications facilities! How very…" Pause, for effect. "_Suspect._"

"Oh _please_, Megatron. They've got both my cannons and have totally _destroyed_ one engine core, I'm grounded and unarmed and slowly going crazy, and I take no pleasure in following their stupid instructions." He paused, and sighed, melodramatically. "They think they can use me as some sort of bargaining chip with you," he grumbled, more quietly, as if attempting to avoid being overheard. "I'm not sure what they want from _you_, yet, but they want you to at least know they've got me. Hard thought it may be for you to believe, I'm a political prisoner here."

"That's not what _Ramjet _would say."

"_Those_ coneheaded morons would say _anything_ to absolve themselves of having to admit to their idiocy. When have you _ever_ known Skywarp to make a big enough leap of imagination to be able to _disable_ Ramjet? _Especially _given that he's still _unarmed_."

There was a very long silence; long enough for both Red Alert and Skywarp to begin to prepare themselves for the flood of Starscream-flavoured cursing that _how DARE he slagging well cut me off!_

"All right," Megatron replied, at long last, and the two observers unconsciously sighed and slumped in relief. "What do you want?"

"I've told you what I want. I know you've got him. I just want to talk to him."

"I don't think you're in any position to go making demands of me, do you? Even if I write your treason off as nothing more than your usual backstabbing-"

"Yes. Or no. I just want. To talk. To my friend." Primus alive, had he _always_ been this hard to wring answers out of?

"A _friend_, Starscream? My, those Autobots really _are_ rubbing off on you, aren't they?"

"Oh-… just-… spare me the sanctimony, for once! Can I talk to him, or not?"

"All right. Maybe… I'll do you a deal," Megatron offered, at last. "You give me one of those worthless little blobs of tin you're sheltering, and I'll think about letting Thundercracker go."

Starscream pursed his lips; something wasn't playing quite right. Megatron had said 'one of' – which implied he thought both the sparklings were with them. And in the event Megatron genuinely _did _have their injured wingmate, (and the red Seeker was of the increasing opinion that he _didn't_), he should _know_ that Slipstream had been with TC, not safely tucked away in the _Ark_ with Lucy. Still, better play along… "You know I can't do that."

"Then I can't help you with whatever game you're playing this time, Starscream," Megatron drawled. "Because the only one who thinks he's fooling _anyone_ here is clearly you. Even that moron Skywarp wouldn't be fooled by that ridiculous little story about being a 'political prisoner'. And your little defection won't earn you many points with the Autobots, I can guarantee you that. So how about we start this conversation again? _What_ _exactly__ do you want_?"

"How many different ways do I have to use to say I want you to let Thundercracker go?"

"And how many times do I have to tell _you_ that I'll only do that on one condition? You clearly attach value to your wingmate – Primus only knows why, maybe incompetence attracts incompetence? – _therefore_ we will do an exchange. Like for like. Something of value for something of value." There was a brief, dry chuckle. "It's not even as if they're yours to worry about. Now do we have a deal or do I hang up?"

"...All right, Megatron," Starscream answered, softly, using his best defeated tone of voice. "I'll try and make some sort of arrangements. It's not going to be easy to do without the Autobots listening in, so just… give me an couple of orns to think of some way of getting them out of here."

"You have an orn, and be grateful I'm generous enough to give you that long."

"_An_ orn?! But that's-… that'll be impossible!" Crunch time. "I've agreed to give you what you want, can I at least just… _talk _to him?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, do you?"

Beat. "Why not? What could I _possibly _say to him that might spoil your cunning master plan, Megatron? You're in the position of power, right now."

"Starscream, I have known you for long enough to know you can ruin _any_ plan with a few carefully placed words. It's not worth the risk."

"What you mean," Starscream argued, thoughtfully, "is that you don't want to _prove_ you have him."

"What purpose could _that_ possibly serve?"

"Because there are those among us that are suspicious enough of your motives to _want _proof, perhaps…?"

"Unless I'm mistaken, _you_ approached _me_ to bargain for his freedom, Starscream. Being in the current position of power, I don't need to prove _anything_, lest of all to _you_."

"You know, I'm rethinking exactly who it is that's got the upper hand, here. Aside from the fact I think you need me to hand the little ones over more than I need you to release Thundercracker – he's resourceful enough to get himself out of trouble..." Starscream smiled to himself. "What you _mean _is you _can't_ prove it. Deal's off, Megatron. I know you haven't got him, and I'm willing to say I don't think you even know where he is. Unless you can come up with something better? Goodbye."

0o0o0o0o0

Back on _Nemesis_, a large black hand ended the transmission by putting a gaping hole in the viewing panel. "Slag it to the _Pit_, Starscream. For once can't you try _not_ playing a double game?"

Megatron sagged back in his seat, and re-examined the old message he'd saved but still not acted upon. Perhaps now was time to see if there was anything to it?

He sat forward and thumbed the intercom. "Ramjet? Yes. I have a task for you – and I would very much appreciate it if you could manage to achieve it _without fouling it up_, for once…"

0o0o0o0o0

Way above the _Ark_, the sun glittered off a large, pale body. It had been nice to have the invitation to join in with the university science project, but Skyfire was tired, and pleased to be coming home at last.

Human science was similar to the disciplines he was familiar with, but in a lot of ways it was strikingly different. Science back home had been less… well… _fuzzy_, in a way. Humans had a flexibility and an adaptiveness that was often lacking in the Cybertronian way of thinking, particularly most scientists. If a problem presented, they'd often just _bend _to take it into account, not rewrite the whole thing from scratch. (Perhaps that was why Starscream had been so good at finding solutions to problems? Back before-… no, won't think about that.)

Satisfying though it had been, he felt _filthy_. Sunstreaker would no doubt have something to say about all this "wallowing in the mud", but he didn't mind. Helped make it feel like he'd achieved something. Still, everything had a "grittiness" to it, and he was looking forward to indulging himself with a good, long bath, with plenty of fresh water and detergent and the undivided attention of the biggest sonic agitator he could find…

Surprisingly, Optimus was waiting outside and watching his approach. Odd, he didn't often have a welcoming committee because of the irregularity of his comings and goings. Not that he was complaining, of course, it was nice to think he'd been noticed, for a change! But it did make him wonder what had been going on in his absence… he hoped it wasn't a bad sign.

"Hello, Optimus," he greeted, transforming back to his gargantuan root mode and approaching with an incongruously light step. "I hope you're just out for some fresh air and there isn't a problem."

"Well, first of all it depends on your definition of 'problem'," the Autobot leader replied, dryly. "Things have got… complicated… in your absence. I thought it was only fair I caught you before you walked smack into things and sank at the deep end."

The first niggles of concern had already begun to spread like prickling static up Skyfire's wings. "I would have happily come back, if it had helped."

"Primus, no, I didn't think it was fair to drag you back from something important purely so you could join the hotbed of political instability the _Ark_ has turned into," Optimus apologised. "And that's aside from the fact that adding yet another voice to the melting pot of yelling wasn't going to help clear the air and get people thinking straight again." He sighed, and spread his hands. "On the other hand, I didn't think it was fair for us to surprise you with our unexpected guests by just letting you walk smack into them."

"Guests?" Skyfire gave him a curious look. "I've met them, if it helps?" _What was so terrible about the surgeon and the sparkling?_

Optimus pulled a face. "I'm not sure you've met _all_ of them. We seem to be… accumulating refugees. There's been the opinion that the little one is somehow magnetic."

Almost as if it had been done to an invisible cue, there was a ripple of squeaking laughter, and something small and excited emerged from the Ark's main entryway, not watching where it was running, and collided with Optimus' legs. "Oops! Sorry Op'mus," a little voice apologised.

"And what are _you _up to, Trouble?"

"Septor say to come get plants! For making sss…" The voice tailed off as the speaker finally noticed the newcomer, and tucked herself just out of plain sight behind one of the Autobot leader's legs, alarmed. "Ooh. Ska'fie!" She re-emerged once recognition finally dawned. "Is back from science!"

"I take it by this you've met Footloose?" Optimus guessed, gathering the sparkling up off the floor so she couldn't accidentally get trodden on.

She shrank back against his chassis, sucking quietly on her fingers, still a little in awe of the behemoth, and wiggled the fingers of her free hand in a shy _hello_.

"Yes, we've met," Skyfire confirmed, bending slightly at the waist and carefully trying to make himself appear a little less imposingly enormous. "Hello there, little one." He brushed a large finger gently over her aerials, and was rewarded by a shy grin, mostly hidden behind her fingers. "Still causing trouble for your poor aunt?"

"I always good," Footloose disagreed, wrinkling her small face into a pout. "Ausep just make bad rules."

Optimus chuckled, and shook his head, amusedly. "Come on in, Skyfire," he said, at last, with a tired smile. "The sooner you meet the new family, the sooner you can join in the politics."

"…politics?" Skyfire tagged along behind, warily; he could already hear familiar angry noises coming from the monitoring room as they approached. He hesitated, anxiously, and just in time – sure enough, next instant a pair of vibratingly-angry blue-and-white wings emerged from behind the heavy curtain, stomping lopsidedly off down the corridor in the direction of the medical suite, hotly pursued by a similar pair of wings in black-and-purple.

Skyfire jumped, openly surprised, and caught Optimus' shoulder, involuntarily. "I know I shouldn't have been surprised, but I am! What are they here for?" he wondered, softly. Thankfully, neither Seeker looked back and noticed him, so he only had to deal with the personal shock of seeing them there and free to move around at will, not Starscream's furious hands clawing for his power regulator as well.

"It's a concept a lot of our allies are having trouble with," Optimus explained, carefully, "but they're here as political refugees. Some more reluctantly than others."

Skyfire looked down at him. "I… beg pardon?" He hadn't wanted to look _quite_ so taken aback, but couldn't shake the dumbfounded expression off his face. "_Why_ did you say they were here? I think I must have misheard."

Footloose had already squirmed her way out of Optimus' arms and was scampering down the corridor in pursuit of the departing Seekers. "Well, _that there _is one of the reasons," the Autobot leader explained, pointing at the sparkling. "Actually, she's probably _most_ of the reasons, if you look hard enough. The jury is fairly evenly split over whether this is a _good_ thing or a _bad_ thing."

Skyfire sighed, tiredly, and stared down the empty corridor for several more long moments. "Would you excuse me for a moment, Optimus?" he wondered, resignedly. "I think I need to prepare myself a little better for the moment Starscream latches his hands around my spark casing..."

0o0o0o0o0

For once, Megatron mused to himself, relaxing in the large central chair in _Nemesis' _command hub, it was nice for things to look like they might be about to go his way. Rather than fluff things up and crawl back empty-handed as he seemed to have done every other time he'd been out recently, Ramjet had done quite well, actually finding _and_ 'arresting' the stranger with the penchant for cryptic messages… but Megatron wasn't about to tell him that. Primus, the Coneheads hadn't seemed quite so bad with Starscream lording it over everyone, but now he was gone it became all the more obvious how intolerable the other jets had become.

…Attitude adjustments could wait until later. The noises filtering through the walls suggested Ramjet was back, and sure enough, the doors parted to reveal the large white jet noisily pushing a small olive green machine along in front of him.

"Show some respect to your new leader!" Ramjet bellowed, and gave his prisoner a brisk _shove _between his shoulders.

The scuffed little machine staggered awkwardly after the Conehead's unexpected blow, but managed to catch himself on one knee before he went sprawling on his front on the floor. "Mighty Megatron," he greeted, keeping his head bowed, remaining on one respectful knee. "I had hoped to get the chance to meet you. I regret only that you had not taken up my offer sooner."

"Siphon, isn't it?" Megatron drawled, softly, pacing around the smaller machine. "I'm trying to decide if you're _brave_ or just _stupid_, coming here."

"You've, um… heard of me…?" Siphon peeked upwards, warily.

"Oh _indeed_. I have heard of you," Megatron confirmed, still pacing. "Calibrator's lackey." He let his voice drop lower, to something more threatening. "I also seem to recall you had your foolish little sparks set on overthrowing the Decepticons."

The tanker responded with an uneasy chuckle. "Um, that is perhaps oversimplifying the issue," he suggested, warily. "Rather, you were not around to offer our services to."

Megatron gave him a very long, hard stare. "Should I remind you where you are, Blue? Lying to Decepticons in _Decepticon territory_ would seem to me to be a fairly stupid venture."

Siphon kept his vocaliser carefully offline. Denying it, agreeing, and apologising all seemed equally likely to get him slagged.

"You messaged me for a reason, Blue," Megatron prodded, in the silence. "Much as I would love to see you reduced to molten slag in front of me, I would like to know your reasons for doing so before I go ahead with it."

"Indeed. I know I cannot speak on behalf of my employer for past indiscretions," Siphon said, quietly, measuring his words with care, "but I do have something in my possession which I hope you may be interested in."

Megatron quirked a brow back at him. "Don't make me _beat_ it out of you," he growled.

The tanker finally let his murky orange optics meet boldly with the tyrant's hostile scarlet ones. "One of Skywarp's offspring."

Megatron straightened. "Is this an idle boast, or do you genuinely have it in your possession?" he demanded, in his most threatening tone of voice. _Seems I should have pushed Starscream a little harder. __Now__ who has the upper hand? _"If you are wasting my time-"

"I genuinely have him in my possession – admittedly in my own base of operations, along with your own operative, Thundercracker."

"Hm, he survived?" Megatron flashed a glare towards Thrust and Blitzwing, who tried to look like they'd not noticed what was being discussed. "_That_ is a piece of information that could prove equally valuable." He narrowed his optics, cautiously. "I assume you want something in return. Your type do not do this out of the kindness of their sparks."

Siphon didn't need to think about it. "Skywarp," he hissed. "I want him captured, shamed, crushed, and dismantled. I want him to _suffer_ like I did."

Megatron actually smiled at the little outburst. "Vengeful little creature, aren't you?" he mused. "Perhaps I can use that." He straightened. "All right, Blu-… _Siphon_. We will do a trade," he 'suggested', in those tones that suggested saying 'no' wasn't an option. "You have something I want. In return, I will give _you _the means to get something _you_ want. On one condition."

Siphon met his gaze, steadily. "Name your terms."

Megatron flicked a hand, and Motormaster emerged from the shadows… carrying an electric heat-lance, tipped with a familiar arrowhead symbol.

"We don't 'subcontract'," Megatron said, calmly, watching the smaller machine trying not to shy backwards too obviously as the brand came closer to his scuffed chest. "Your only way out of here? Is as one of us."

Siphon forced a reluctant smile; he could already feel the heat of the lance bubbling his old enamel. "H-hail Megatron," he said, faintly… and the brand planted _hard_ down on his chassis-

0o0o0o0o0

"Ow! Oh, oops! Ow. I wasn't expecting that to happen, I thought I'd unplugged all the live ones! Um, okay maybe I should- hey, no, nono, don't touch that!- maybe I should try this one instead, maybe green means something else to what I thought it meant-…"

Deuce's medicines had very clearly worn off, by now. He wasn't the quiet, depressed little mech he'd been earlier, any more – he was looking far more like he'd been under the influence of Blue. And Thundercracker was running out of patience.

"Do you think you could perhaps just sit quietly, Deuce?" the blue Seeker wondered, despairingly. "Or isn't that in your emotional makeup?"

"Well, I don't know, see, I have mixed episodes," Deuce explained, distractedly, tearing out wires in a carefully haphazard fashion and experimenting with twisting different ones together, as if that would _somehow_ kill the field. The rest of the components that had previously been buried in the wall were now laid out in a very careful pattern in the sand that Deuce had forbidden anyone to go near, just in case they accidentally jostled any out of place or scuffed out one of the little notes he'd scribbled in the sand with a fingertip. "At least that's what my psychiatrist calls them; he says I'm – what was it he said, um, 'bipolar with a rapid emotional cycle and predisposition to mixed episodes'. I'm well controlled when I get my medicine but my moods go a bit loopy when I'm not, which is why Siphon usually makes sure I don't run out, but of course this time I _have_ run out because I'm stuck in here and my meds are out there and ehh, I don't like silences, you know? They make me twitchy, like I should be waiting for something to happen, but if I talk I can fill them up and that makes me feel better…"

_Small wonder Siphon keeps him partially sedated_, Thundercracker considered, uncharitably, rubbing his temples. _He's exhausting just to listen to_. Even Starscream's occasional bouts of obsessive-compulsive weren't this bad.

"Perhaps you ought to just sit quietly and wait until Siphon comes back," he suggested, carefully. "I don't think he'll be happy you've destroyed the wall."

"No, no need to sit still, I can do this! I can do it," Deuce insisted, ignoring Thundercracker's sensible concerns. Leaving the components spread out over the floor, he'd changed tactics and was making a valiant effort at digging his way down to the field emitters themselves, using a piece of plating to clear away the crumbly stone. "I mean I could do it a lot easier if I had the plans but I figure I'm a quick learner, so long as I can see where everything goes then I'll be okay, and the emitters are fairly obvious, all I have to do is unplug them and then you're out! See Siphon thinks he's clever keeping you behind the field but the walls aren't very good quality, you could even dig your way out if you tried hard enough."

"I don't think," Thundercracker repeated, more slowly, approaching with his hands up, "that you should destroy much more of the wall." _Because if you do Siphon will doubtless think we coerced you into it and I don't want any more of his sadism directed towards any of us._

"Why are you trying to stop me? Don't you want to get out? You said you wanted me to help you escape and that's what I'm doing, see? All I have to do is get the wall to short-… to short out-…" Deuce grumbled with the effort and struggled to reach the component he wanted, cheek jammed up against the wall. "…and then you're out, you could be gone before he even gets back from… from… wherever it is he's gone!"

"Deuce… Deuce?" Thundercracker caught one of his arms, and the truck froze up altogether. "I need you to _listen _to me. I need you to _stop_ and _think_. You already said you don't know when Siphon's going to be back. To help us escape? You need to be _out_. You need to know where Siphon is, and how long you'll have to get these collars off. You need to know _how_ to get the collars off! If you go and fry yourself in here? Siphon will think _I _did it, and will punish me accordingly. And I would _love_ to keep my helm between my shoulder vents. Is _any_ of this sinking in?"

To his credit, Deuce _had_ sat quietly and listened the entire time Thundercracker had spoken. Unfortunately, not for the reasons the Seeker had hoped.

"You want him to catch me?" The very instant the thought had finished processing, it was like someone had flipped a switch. Deuce froze up, for a fraction of an astro-second, stared with wide-eyed horror at the other three… and his composure fractured into frightened sobs. "I'm only trying to help you, I swear I'm only trying to help!" he pleaded, backing away and scuffing a line through his carefully-drawn schematics.

"I _know_ you're trying to help," Thundercracker soothed, albeit through gritted teeth. "And I appreciate it. We all do! But you're going about it the wrong way. Even if we get out, we can't go anywhere with these collars on. You understand?"

"No, no, you're all against me!" Deuce's voice skittered up the scale. "You all want him to find out I'm helping you and have him kill me! And I know I should have stayed at the hospital and I know I'm a terrible mech and I've done terrible things but I don't want to die, oh Primus please don't kill me…!"

Thundercracker backed up as far as he could manage, and settled on the sand in his own corner; an anxious Slipstream climbed immediately into his arms. "I'm not going to hurt you, Deuce. I just want you to calm down."

Deuce had already huddled into a ball, hugging his knees, green optics fixed like targeting lasers on the blue Seeker, and a hitching stream of unintelligible words simmered up from around his arms.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Thundercracker repeated, softly.

Deuce's gaze flickered. "…Decepticon. Didn't mean-… don't hurt me. What do you want with me? I don't do that any more, I don't I don't… they tricked me-… please don't hurt me…"

Thundercracker sighed, inwardly; the only way he'd get Deuce to calm down would presumably be to ignore him. He turned his attention instead to the clicking, anxious sparkling in his arms, and – thankfully – it seemed to be working; although the truck remained on-edge and murmuring comfortingly to himself, he did seem to have calmed a little, as time wore on.

"My my. What a happy little family," an unwanted voice drawled, from outside, and four sets of optics turned to find Siphon silhouetted against the harsh corridor lighting. "And-… Primus, what a mess. I don't suppose you could have spread more components across the floor if I gave you a bomb, could you, Deuce?"

Thundercracker had spotted the new patch of malevolent purple on the tanker's scuffed paintwork almost immediately; it felt like a hand had closed around his spark-casing and _squeezed_. He watched uneasily as the tanker let himself through the field, picking his way through the scattered components; Deuce had already tightened back up into a shaking ball in his corner.

Siphon gave Deuce several long cold moments of study before speaking. "See what it is you're so determined to befriend, to speak up for?" He directed his scorn at Thundercracker. "Pathetic waste of good spares."

"He's unwell, and you left him without his meds," Thundercracker challenged, remembering just in time that he needed to feign sleepiness. "What do you expect?"

"I left him without medication _on purpose_," Siphon agreed, bluntly. "It irks me to see the way you pander to him. He is _not_ your friend, or your little double agent; he may think he is helping but all he is doing is proving _you_ are playing _games_. Stupid little creature is about as useful as your airheaded wingmate. All he is good for is fetching and carrying, and basic thuggery. Without drugs to deaden his excitatory nature, and a comprehensive list of instructions to follow, he is carried away on wild flights of fantasy and useful to _no-one_."

It was a bit of an uncharitable description, but unfortunately semantics didn't hide the truth in the tanker's words. All Deuce had actually succeeded in doing was proving Thundercracker had got to him, which would mean the rules got tightened. _Primus_. It took every ounce of Thundercracker's self control not to hit anything in frustration.

"As for _you_…" Siphon turned to glare down at his quaking underling.

"You want him to kill me," Deuce wheezed, his words simmering with distressed static. "You want him to kill me, that's why you left us in here together. You daren't do it yourself, so you left me in here with the Decepticon-… please, don't let him, please please I'll be good-"

"Oh for Primus sake, take your medicine already," Siphon snapped and hurled a vial of glowing green fluid at the navy-coloured machine. "Get out and get yourself back under control."

It was like the flick of a switch – Deuce didn't apparently take kindly to having things thrown at him. "Don't you _throw things_!" he snapped, and lunged for him.

Siphon gave a yipe! of alarm and lurched out of the way, but not quickly enough; Deuce crashed into his midsection and they both slammed into the security field. Siphon gave a howl of rage, and suffered several tortuous astro-seconds of helpless shuddering agony before the discharge finally filtered through to Deuce and the truck abruptly let him go.

"Pit-spawned moron! Take your slagging medication, already!" the tanker howled, once he'd finally got control back over his vocaliser, and delivered a swift, vicious kick to the larger mech. There was a low _crack!_ at the impact, and when Deuce finally scuttled past Thundercracker, clutching his vial of medication to his chassis and whimpering softly, one optic was dim and leaking fluid, cracked all the way across.

"Now, where were we? Oh, yes…" Siphon turned towards the blue Seeker, letting his long fingers reform into the finer of his nozzles. "We'll be having… _visitors_, very shortly. And I need _you_ on your, ah… 'best behaviour'. So _sit still while I dose you up, friend…_"


	18. Chapter 17

**Warped - Chapter Seventeen**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N: **Urghhh so sloooow with the updates. It's always a bad thing when I start to work on the next stories in the sequence because I lose track of the 'published' (as in, uploaded) ones. Anyway!

Kittona: Megatron knew there was more than one, as he'd heard them referred to as "little ones", but I'm not sure he knew exactly how many. :) And Warp let it slip along the way somewhere, as well.

Thanks for all the positive comments, people. :) I'm trying to keep the standard up. ;)I hope this chapter reads all right; Starscream AND Skyfire were being very reticient about what they wanted to say to each other. :P

(Incidentally, for those who prefer a blog-type format, I've been really bad at mentioning it but I do post to my Livejournal as well:

keaalu dot livejournal dot com slash tag slash warped )

* * *

"Hey, Screamer."

_If he comes over here with the sole intention of pestering me j__ust __once__ more, I swear I will solder his lips shut. _Starscream lifted his gaze from his soldering iron and gave Skywarp his best glare, hoping to scare him away. "What do you want _now_?"

Far too familiar with his wing commander's moods to be sent packing with just a sour look, Skywarp scarcely even flickered an optic; he instead rested his elbows on the desk, and fiddled with an unattended focussing crystal until a pair of blue hands irritably flapped him away. "Word in the corridors says your bestest buddy is back from wherever it is he's been afting about lately," he supplied, offhand.

"If you're talking about Skyfire – and I have no doubt that you are, because subtlety never was and never will be your forte," Starscream dropped his gaze back down to his work and got back to microwelding components into place, "then I know. He got back over an orn ago."

"You know, and you've not even gone to argue with him once yet?" Skywarp planted a palm flat on Starscream's brow in a parody of taking his temperature. "Something wrong? Don't you feel well?"

Starscream jerked backwards, out of reach. "Look, I am _not_ in the mood for your _fraggery_," he hissed, and jabbed the heat lance dangerously close to Skywarp's face, forcing his wingmate to hurriedly back up before he got it in his optic. "I know you're only displacing your own _oversentimental _concerns onto me, and you can just _stop it_. I don't need you pestering _me_ because it's keeping your mind off your own worries."

Skywarp's features had already curled into a pout. "Psh. Don't give yourself so much credit," he sniped, helping himself to one of the focusing crystals again. "You're just an easy target, and I'm bored."

"Clearly." The 'easy target' plucked the component out of the purple fingers with a glare. "Primus, I never once thought I'd see the day I wished you _weren't_ being emotionally semi-responsible and just got back to your old aftery," he snapped, at the limit of his patience. _One more breem of this and I'm going to start throwing things. _"Why can't you just… slag off and put glue on Prime's chair, or something? That's your _usual_ standard of inanity, isn't it?"

"Yeah, and how long do you think it'd be before they kicked me out, or worse? You heard Prime, if I cause problems I end up in stasis for the rest of our stay here."

Starscream gave him a sour smile and set the crystal back down in the support matrix. "Beloved wingmate, _that was the idea_," he shot back, dabbing tiny spots of solder and securing the crystal in place before Skywarp could get his hands on it again. "If you're in stasis, you're not pestering me."

"You know? It's _so nice _to know my wingmate cares about me _so much_ he'd rather I was inert and unconscious."

"How many hints do I have to drop before you leave me in peace to work?! The quicker I get you re-armed, the quicker we can be out of here." Starscream levelled his best glower at the teleport. "And the quicker we can find Thundercracker, and think about what we're going to do about those 'issues' that need resolving."

"So you can run away from all the other 'issues', right?" Skywarp leaned closer across the table. "What exactly are you so scared of?" he challenged. "That you might have to _talk_ to him? Big fragging _deal_. What's the worst that can happen, he guilts you into remembering you used to be his friend? Oh no, universe is gonna end because Screamer has proof he's being a purge-retentive _aft._" An unexpected blue fist landed square on his nose and sent him reeling, hands over his face. "Ow-… _ow_! Ohh, no fair, ow, what is it with people smacking my poor nose around?"

_He can't be that badly damaged if he can make that much noise about it,_ Starscream considered, darkly. "So stop leaving people in a position where they _want_ to smack you around," he snapped. "If you really want to know? _I_ don't want to risk our precarious position here, and I can't guarantee that _I_ won't go for the big traitor's main power regulator." He hitched his wings and flexed his fingers, attempting to stretch a little of the tension out of his fists. His voice descended into barely intelligible mutterings. "Why the big idiot had to choose _now_ to show up, I have no idea…"

"Well _Lucy_ seems to be getting on all right with him," Skywarp sniped around his fingers, still nursing his abused nose. "And I wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't given her a full run-down on your history together, while he was at it, so he can't be _too_ mad at you or she wouldn't be going _near_ you any more."

This time the optics were narrower and the gaze even more scathing, blazing almost white-hot from beneath hooded brows; Starscream was up on his lopsided feet in a fraction of a second, bumping against the table and sending it skidding away, scattering half his carefully-laid-out collection of components across the floor. "If you're trying to poke me into a violent response," he chewed out, hotly, stabbing a finger for emphasis, "then _congratulations_, it's working. Now _back off_ before I jam _this_," he hefted the half-completed weapon like a javelin, "down your intakes."

Skywarp folded his arms, bullishly. "I'd like to see you _try_," he goaded.

...so it was _very_ unfortunate timing on Skyfire's part. Starscream was already on a hair trigger, so the explosive response when the big shuttle tentatively put his head around the door and voiced his polite greetings probably shouldn't have gone entirely unexpected…

0o0o0o0o0

Down in the desert, Siphon's master plan was finally back on track.

Deuce was "on probation". Siphon's patience was painfully short with him, and since the truck had inadvertently proved Thundercracker had begun to sway his thinking, the tanker no longer trusted him even just to add the prisoners' sedation to their energon while he watched.

Which, in turn, meant Siphon had taken full charge of doling out medication once again. Although Pulsar lay so inert that she barely even managed to flinch, Thundercracker managed to give a pretty good account of himself, scuffing trails of black paint across the tanker's olive chassis and biting hard enough to trigger a slew of cursing. Siphon's new badge brought with it new allies, however, and although Megatron himself had been conspicuous by his absence, there were plenty of the Seeker's former comrades ready and willing to give their opinion of his treason. Thrust in particular took an obscene delight in 'helping' the tanker – although it was more for the opportunity to pay Thundercracker back for shooting him than out of any desire to be useful.

Right now, Slipstream was the only one of the three not sedated; Siphon had clearly noticed the sparkling's determination to look after his small family, and decided that he could use it to his advantage. Why waste his or Deuce's precious time 'babying' the prisoners when they had someone with nothing better to do that was perfectly willing to do it for them?

It was hard work for the little mech – particularly since the two adults were right on opposite sides of their accommodation. Dack would sag wherever Deuce put him, and Ama would settle herself as far away from him as physically possible, curled up, facing the wall. The usual purge-poor energon would get dumped just inside the doorway; the degree of care with which it was left depended on who was delivering it, and Slipstream had on at least one occasion had to make a frantic sprint to catch the cube when a careless shove had almost toppled it right over. He'd "ladle" out a little of the murky brown fuel into a second cube, so he could actually carry it, and trot across the cell first to Ama, because she was never very needy, and help her with her refuelling – she was too shaky to do it herself. Then he'd get his small back up against the larger cube and scoot it across the cell to Dack, and repeat the process of portioning the energon out into aliquots he could actually _lift_, and once the adults were both satisfied he'd finally fill his own small tanks.

Eventually, he'd slump against the big mech's side, tucked up under an arm and against a wing, and let himself doze. He _wanted_ to snuggle with Ama, to let her know they _did _care and _were _looking for a way out and _would _all escape, but she got twitchy at having him so close, even in that dozy half-conscious state.

It was in this subdued, dozy environment that they finally got their promised 'visitor', with the giant silver and black mech having to stoop very slightly to avoid his head brushing against the ceiling. To start with, he remained in the doorway, silently surveying the three; Slipstream didn't like the way the big crimson optics stared so probingly at him, and tried to hide better behind Thundercracker's arm. Eventually Siphon released the field, and the giant stepped through; the imposing stature and heavy black fusion barrel along one arm left no confusion over who he was.

_A mech could say what he liked about Siphon's disturbing __manner__, the little brute hadn't done badly at all_, Megatron considered, silently._ All three were actually well under control and acting obedient._

The femme was of little interest – Siphon had torn her to pieces comprehensively enough for anyone to be satisfied with, and she looked almost dead anyway, missing several bits of her anatomy and sluggishly leaking fluids from the point of her broken shoulder – but the other two were a different matter. In spite of its odd colouration, he had very few doubts that the damaged Seeker trying vainly to maintain an air of hostile defensiveness was anyone other than who Siphon claimed it was, and as for the little one… It seemed even more unlikely that there had been more unattended younglings in grabbing distance and the tanker had somehow got lucky.

The tiny mech had drawn anxiously closer to his barely-conscious guardian as Megatron had watched, settling his small body down on the jet's chassis – but was still not breaking eye contact. Bold little creature, Megatron considered, thoughtfully. It was hard to tell precisely _who_ was trying to protect _who_; Thundercracker had a loose arm protectively mantled up over the smaller creature, but the infant was still trying to put himself in between Thundercracker and his former leader. _How sickeningly adorable._

"You're certain this is Thundercracker?" Megatron challenged, at last, breaking the silence. "My former loyalist is _blue_ in colour."

Siphon remained a respectful half-step behind him. "Indeed. He was blue when he arrived," he confirmed, cryptically. "But I needed to use his services before sending my masterpiece back to her idiot partner," he gestured to Pulsar; "as I could not get Skywarp himself."

Megatron gave him a wary sidelong look – the same sort of look he used to give Starscream when suspicious that his Second was cooking some nefarious plot or another – then gestured into the cell. "You mean to say _this_ waste of good spares is the Autobot we've all been hearing sparked off against Skywarp?" he challenged, drolly. "I must say I expected something… _larger_."

Siphon chuckled; his laugh was particularly thin and unpleasant, just then. "I suspect there was either an element of desperation about it, from both parties," he confirmed. "Or else she was just too scared to say 'no'." He slid his scrawny frame through the narrow gap between the larger machine and the doorframe, and casually plucked Slipstream up out of the sand.

The sparkling jolted hard in alarm, and struggled very briefly, twisting round and attempting to reach for his guardian, until Siphon placed him into Megatron's large hands. Being trapped in the giant's grip seemed to put a dampener on his determination to wriggle free. He glanced back towards Thundercracker just the once, as if to reassure himself that Siphon wasn't hurting him, then looked back up to meet the stern crimson gaze above.

"Hello, little one," Megatron greeted, quietly, stepping back towards the exit. "I've been looking forwards to meeting you. I hope you can live up to your promise-"

"Hey-… hey…! Bring him back here," a deep voice challenged from behind, accompanied by the low _grate_ of ill-tended hydraulics and shifting plating.

Megatron turned to find Thundercracker had actually made it to his feet; he matched stares with the muted damson optics, for a moment or two, and gave him a long, critical visual appraisal. The smaller machine looked… _woozy_, almost, he was swaying very very slightly and his thrusters were spread more widely than normal for balance. Obviously he was making a valiant effort at being his usual pugnacious self, but was barely awake enough to even remain upright without effort.

"Bring him back, or I'll come take him," Thundercracker added, taking one unsteady step closer and waving a threatening finger to emphasise his willingness to attempt violence on his former leader.

"No, I don't think I will," Megatron replied, disparagingly, turning back to the door. "I'll bring him back when it suits me. Fighting you just isn't worth my time any more."

The insult was clear in the heavy voice. "You just… come back here, and say that to my face-…!"

Megatron smiled, cynically; _full marks for effort, but nil points for effectiveness_. "You?" the tyrant repeated, advancing slowly, "Are not. Worth. My time." He pressed a single finger against the scuffed amber glass of the jet's cockpit, and pushed.

Exactly as he'd predicted, Thundercracker was so precarious that he couldn't even fight against that insignificant little shove. He teetered unsteadily backwards, passed his centre of gravity, and grunted in pain as his back and wings impacted the wall.

"Dack…!" a plaintive little voice complained, worriedly, but it was already moving away.

Thundercracker listened to the low _fzzt_ of the security field closing, and groaned to himself, lifting a shaky hand to nurse his temples. _Lost him. __Lost him__. Oh Primus slag it to the deepest Pit. What's the chance he actually __will__ bring him back? _

_Only one thing for it. They need to find us. Got to get a message out, so the guys know where to look. Got to get a __person__ out_. He studied his fellow prisoner for almost a full breem before making his mind up. "Listen. Pulse?"

She sneaked her gaze sideways, until she could _just_ see him, in the very periphery of her vision. "Wh-what?"

He kept still; ordinarily, he'd have wanted to look her in the eye and be sure she understood, but that would be more likely to spook her back into those deep mental hiding places – and his need to have her listen was greater. "I'm going to ask Deuce to let you out of here," he said, softly. "Not just because you'll be dead if you stay much longer, but our friends won't find us if at least one of us doesn't get out."

"They'll find us-" she asserted, raspily.

"It's almost been forty terran orns, Pulse. And do you know how _big_ this ball of dirt is? They're not going to find us without help, certainly not before that crackpot kills someone."

"Then get yourself out! You and Seem," she pleaded, betraying her strength of feeling by actually turning very slightly in his direction. "Get out, hide, find a radio, _something_. I'll keep him busy-"

"Oh no, you're not going to get me agreeing to that." Thundercracker shook his head. "Your little ones would _never _forgive us for making a plan like that. If _we_ got away, how long do you think it would take before Siphon finished the job of dismantling _you_? He won't just be _angry_, he'll be _murderous_. He'll scatter your parts all the way across the surface of this mud-ball world."

Her dim optic looked back away. "Small sacrifice if my little one gets out alive. He's what's important. Not some broken-up one-of-a-million creature like me-"

"I wish you'd… just… stop keep labouring that point!" the jet scolded, and rubbed his temples, frustratedly, when she flinched and curled more tightly into a broken ball. "I understand that you're not the most unique of models out there. I _understand_ that you were off the production line and straight into a job. I _understand_ that you were adult from the get-go, that you never experienced being a sparkling, that you had to learn everything the hard way. It doesn't mean you're _disposable_. Too many lives have been thrown away for nothing on this stupid war, and I'll be damned if I let another life go down the drain because I was careless." At least she seemed to still be listening; he pushed on. "I can look after myself, I've been smacked around enough in all my vorns as a Decepticon to know what I can tolerate, and Seem is too valuable for Megatron to want to harm. We get _you_ out. _You _call the alarm. And in the process? You _survive_."

0o0o0o0o0

…The fact that Starscream been unarmed in the traditional sense – even his careful combination of threats and bribery hadn't persuaded Ratchet to reattach his null-rays – hadn't seemed to impact too greatly on his ability to generate damage. The fact he wasn't bristling with heavy firepower should have made him easier to catch, but the intensity and _ferocity_ of his bodily assault on Skyfire left everyone struggling to come to a suitable response. His welding lance and teeth shredded their way through softer components like a blowtorch through a stick of butter, and the sharp rim of his one good thruster had scraped away great plaques of paint from Skyfire's lower body; it looked almost like the shuttle was being attacked by an ungodly large winged feline, the way the maddened Seeker hung on and _kicked_.

Footloose – familiar with the _idea_ that Decepticons could be violent, but never yet having party to some of the worst of it – had been absolutely terrified, and hidden herself away in a cupboard somewhere in a near-abandoned corner of the _Ark_. It took a combined effort from half a dozen machines a good cycle or two to find her in the first place, and then almost another cycle to _finally_ coax her out into the safety of Forceps' large arms.

Speaking of whom, even Forceps – who had already made a reputation for herself by being famously unimpressed by any of what she defined 'stupidity' on the part of the Seekers – had looked somewhat taken aback by the sheer determined violence in Starscream's actions. _You can take the Seeker out of the Decepticons, but you'll never _quite_ take all the Decepticon out of the Seeker. _She and Ratchet – the only two strong enough to make an impact, right now – finally managed to wrestle the wailing mech off his prey and down to the brig to 'cool off' after a full breem of noisy violence had ensued.

In comparison to Skywarp, who could be just as explosive but never really hung onto a bad mood for too long, Starscream was the acknowledged expert when it came to nursing the embers of a bad temper. Even the most minor of infractions could be counted on to provide a hostile undercurrent to his manner for far longer than was necessary.

So _this_ little tantrum was going to take him a while to get over! It took a good terran orn for the irate former Air Commander to even stop pacing and threatening and swearing – although being confined in a little cell in the bowels of the mountain with no windows and barely enough room to turn full circle didn't help his mood one iota. When he _finally _settled – and the _Ark_ vented a collective sigh of relief that he had – he parked himself sullenly on his narrow berth and refused to acknowledge _anyone_, not even Skywarp. (Not that the teleport went out of his way to check on him. He looked around the door just the once, prodded for a response, endured a few astro-seconds of his wingmate's best hostile silence, then gave up.)

When Jazz went down to check on him (and assess his mood), Starscream hadn't moved at all for cycles. His temper was still running hot, but it wasn't spitting quite so much ichor out around him.

"Yeah, Skyfire," Starscream heard him say. "Looks like he's cooled down a bit now. You _miight _be able to get through to him."

The red Seeker folded his arms a little tighter across his chassis, ground his denta a little harder together, found a good interesting spot on the wall to stare at. _Not going to respond. Not going to say a word. Don't HAVE a word TO say. Not to him. Traitorous lump of old purge-sludge._

"Thank you, Jazz," Skyfire acknowledged, polite as ever. "I have the suspicion this may be a short conversation anyway."

Starscream couldn't help it. In spite of the way he'd assured himself that he wouldn't respond, that nothing was worth stooping to Skywarp's level and name-calling-… he couldn't help it. "Nice to see you're _still _hanging around like a bad smell," he sniped, not looking up – not _needing _to look up at the big white blob in the periphery of his vision. "You know they only keep you around to be their willing taxi."

Outside the cell, Skyfire inclined his head, sadly. "Better a welcome taxi in the company of friends than an unwelcome punching bag in the company of those who want him dead," he replied, softly.

Starscream narrowed his optics a little further; crimson blazed out hotly enough to make a little scarlet pinpoint on the wall opposite. "What do you want, anyway? Come to _gloat_? If you've got any told-you-so-s, you better get them over and done with, because I am _not_ talking to you."

"If you've come to think of me as the gloating sort, then you truly have forgotten our friendship," Skyfire replied, softly. "I just wanted to talk to you, a little. See if we could patch things over. I'm prepared to forgive and forget, if you are. We used to just _talk_ quite a lot, as I recall."

"What could you _possibly _have to say that you think I would _want _to hear?!" Starscream grated out, finally jerking his head angrily around to glare at the shuttle; seeing the great scraped silver plaques still on his lower body wasn't _quite_ as satisfying as he'd hoped it would be. "After you… _betrayed_ me! After everything I went through because of you, and then you _still_ betrayed me, _abandoned _me…!? I dug you out of the ice, I insisted they keep trying when you didn't immediately come round, and when you finally woke up? You dumped me so fast it may as well have been because I was _electrified_!"

Skyfire rubbed his brows, tiredly. "Have you never once stopped to consider my side of things, Star?" he wondered. "I had been in stasis lock for the entire duration of the war, and you expected me to throw my hand in immediately with the side that stood for almost everything that was opposite of what _I_ stood for?"

Starscream bristled. "Don't you take that tone with me! This is _important_ and I will _not_-"

"All right, this has dragged on far enough. Just for once, will you _shut up_ and let me speak, Starscream?"

Suitably startled by the unfamiliar outburst, Starscream actually did just that, protests dying unspoken in his vocaliser. His optics had widened to big crimson pools of surprise.

"That you feel betrayed, I understand. And please accept that I deeply regret making you feel that way!" The gentle giant went on, softly. "But your bruised feelings are not solely my doing. You had as much a hand in this as I did."

"Oh _please_," Starscream scoffed, folding his arms and glaring at the wall, but there was a strange, uneasy discomfiture lurking just beneath the surface of his manner.

"When you asked that I joined you in the Decepticons?" Skyfire pushed to secure his advantage. "You betrayed _my_ trust. You, who knew me better than anyone, knowingly invited me into a faction that would root out every last one of my so-called 'weaknesses' – if respect for life can be called a weakness – and exploit them to the detriment of my health. I suspect you also knew deep down that I could not have changed to fit in, and would have quickly ended up dead at Megatron's hand, or have at very least been beaten into servitude. So before you labour too heavily the point of _my_ supposed betrayal, how about we discuss _yours_?"

Starscream glared horribly, and huffed, but even with all the smarts in his head couldn't come up with a suitable retort. The shuttle's scolding words had actually _stung_! And for no good reason. Perhaps he was so used to thinking he was the one in the right, that the shuttle had simply thrown their friendship back in his face and turned his back on him, that it was a genuine shock to see things from the other's point of view. _If Skyfire had asked that I join __him__, before he 'betrayed' me, would I have? __Could__ I have given up everything to pick up an old friendship?_

"That said?" Skyfire backed off a step or two, accepting Starscream's silence as him having accepted the point. "It _is_ good to see you again without exchanging blows. I know you may not believe me – make that, _probably won't _believe me – but I _am_ glad you are out of the self-destructive spiral you had got yourself caught up in."

Starscream pursed his lips, and elected not to comment. He watched as the shuttle sighed, finally despairing of making his point, and moved away towards the exit.

Skyfire hesitated in the doorway. "I'm not going to leave my home just to satisfy your selfish hostility," he said, just loudly enough that the current monitor could hear and be witness to it, if needed. "If you don't want to talk civilly, I accept that. I'm quite happy to ignore you too, if that's what you want. But please, for the sake of your family, if you can't bring yourself to make it for my sake? Don't be quite so quick to deal out violence. Next time I _will_ be ready, and I would hate to damage you any more than you already are."

Starscream listened as the footsteps departed, and huffed to himself, folding his arms a little more self-comfortingly across his chassis. _Stupid big white blob,_ he consoled himself, although his words weren't quite so reassuring as they used to be. _Never understood, and still doesn't._

A breem or two passed before – at long last – there was the sound of footsteps and the _bips_ of fingers keying in the sequence to release the security field.

"Prowl says I can let you out if you're gonna be on your best behaviour," Jazz explained, with a lopsided smile, when Starscream finally appeared in the space left when the bars retracted. "But that little incident in the medical suite was your one and only opportunity to express your true feelings, so to speak. You go for the jugular again-"

"-and I get to spend the rest of our stay in stasis, I know," Starscream interrupted, grimly. "Trust me, I don't plan on losing control like that again." He wrinkled his lip in a sneer. "Certainly not where _you_ lot can see it."

The instant he was out of the transmission-muffling cell-block, Starscream pinged Skywarp for a positional reference and got a wordless reflex response; galley. _Should have known he'd be slacking off somewhere_. He followed it along the corridors, reassured by the lack of riot-noises.

The galley/rec-room was fairly busy, when he arrived. There was a cluster of Autobots watching television and making impolite small-talk about some inane human chatshow – it surprised him that Skywarp hadn't taken over the couch and remote, actually, but then he _was _sorely outnumbered – and two playing chess (well, arguing across the top of a chessboard, but that seemed no different to normal). The viewing windows had been rigged with holoprojectors so instead of staring at rock, a machine could look out on views of Cybertron.

Starscream studiously ignored all the stares at his arrival; he kept his nose snootily elevated and pretended there was no-one there except himself and his wingmate, although there was a trace – just a trace – of humility in his manner. He fetched himself a flask of energon, swapped a hideous glare with Sunstreaker, who was using the computer terminal nearby, and turned away to find Skywarp in his usual corner, next to the largest viewscreen and actually looking semi-intellectual with a news-sheet laid out in front of him.

Starscream drew closer to find Footloose tucked in under Skywarp's wing, apparently trying to mould herself to his flank. She wrapped her little fingers around his arm and pulled it in front of her, hiding herself from full view and peeking out around it. Her little green optics were bluish in alarm.

Skywarp glanced up and met his gaze very briefly; the dark Seeker looked sorely peevish. -_gonna say sorry or I'm not talking_- he instructed, darkly.

-_don't be a sparkling_- Starscream scolded. -_no big deal and she'll get over it_-

Good to his word, Skywarp didn't even respond to the ping. He had his gaze fixed upon the news sheet on the table (although Starscream sensed he wasn't even attempting to read it), nursing half a flask of energon with his free hand.

-_oh grow up, Warp…_-

Skywarp flashed him a sneer, but remained silent.

Starscream grimaced, visibly, and – looking like he'd rather take a wrench to the sensitive edges of his wings – crouched down beside where Skywarp was sitting, bringing him to eye-level with Footloose.

"I'm sorry I scared you, Footloose," he gritted out, struggling to get the words out with so many optics turning to watch. _Primus-damned Autobots could at least give us a smidgen of privacy, here! _"I didn't mean to get so angry."

She peered hesitantly out from behind Skywarp's arm. "Not make hurt more now?" she wondered, in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

"No. No more."

"Not make hurt at Ska'fie?" she chased, giving him a long, beseeching look.

He groaned inwardly, and offered his hands, and she (thankfully) elected to climb out of Skywarp's arms and settle into the blue palms. "I suppose I could stand to keep from walloping him any more," he agreed, dryly, tweaking her antennae and making her _chirp_ softly in appreciation. "Provided people don't keep _poking_ me into reacting."

Skywarp made a dismissive noise but didn't rise to the bait.

"Why make hurts?" she wondered. "Ska'fie nice, says was friend?"

"Hmm." Starscream settled into the chair next to his wingmate, and let Footloose tuck herself into her usual spot in the crook of his arm. "It's… complicated."

"Ska'fie say also," she agreed, grumpily. "What make complicated?"

"Well… we, ah… have 'history' together."

"Ska'fie say make science together? Until Ska'fie lost."

"That's right." _Great, what _else_ has he told her…? _"It was on this mud-ball world that he went missing."

Footloose hummed and clicked anxiously. "Like Dack and Seem?"

"Oh Primus, no, nothing like how they've gone missing," he was quick to reassure. "It was an accident with Skyfire. The weather got bad, and I couldn't find him."

"That why Sta'zim angry with?" She looked puzzled. "Said was accident."

"No, it's not why we fell out. That's, um... that's the bit that's hard to explain. See, he went missing _before_ the war, and didn't know anything about our different factions when he woke up." It was hard to remain neutral on the subject, especially while he was still stinging from their 'conversation' a few breems ago. "When he decided to join the Autobots, I took it personally. If he was _my friend_, he should have stayed _with me_." He lowered his voice, and muttered, softly; "not that the Autobots have ever treated him better than we would have, anyway."

Footloose grumbled, perplexed, and butted her little head against his shoulder. "But _why_ argue?" she insisted.

He gave her a look. "I told you why. We made our choices, and have been glaring at each other from opposite factions ever since."

"So Day and Ama am different factors," Footloose challenged. "Why big matter?"

_Of course, you've never been party to their arguments. _He winced. "You'll understand when you're older."

"Want understand _now_," she grumbled, folding her arms, but didn't push it any further.

Starscream was just reaching for his flask when something gave him a firm _swat_ around the back of his head; he _ow!_-ed and glared irritably sidelong as Forceps slid into the next chair along. "What was _that_ for?"

"For all that afting about, earlier," she replied, dryly, as Footloose – apparently back to her usual self – squeaked a greeting and climbed between laps. "You've forgiven him then, hmm, Button?"

Footloose clicked happily and scaled her aunt's broad chest to rub cheeks. "Sta'zim say not to make more hurts," she confirmed.

"Well, that's good! I'd hate to have to weld him to a medical berth or anything to keep him under control."

Starscream gave her a dirty look, but didn't argue it, while Skywarp _snrk-_ed in the background. A strange sort of peace was maintained for approximately half a breem, until Skywarp got an unexpected delivery-

"Yo, Skywarp! Catch!"

"What?" Skywarp turned to find Sideswipe had already thrown whatever he was carrying, and it was only Seeker reflexes that prevented the big brown paper-wrapped box from smacking him in the face.

"Someone's sending you stuff!"

"_Sending_ me stuff?" Skywarp frowned, examining the brown parcel and pinging at the twine that tied it shut; the irritation melted off him and was replaced very quickly by curiosity. It was clearly for him, because it had his name printed in both Cybertronian _and_ Earthly letters on the top of it, followed by a clumsy but understandable rendition of the _Ark_'s address. "Who'd be sending _me_ stuff? Who even knows I'm here?" he wondered, mostly to himself, hooking his thrusters comfortably up on the table.

"I hope there's nothing dangerous to anyone's health in there," Forceps gave the red twin a wary look as he passed.

Sideswipe gave her a withering look. "Oh _please_. Prowl made us run it through the analyser first," he retorted. "There's no unstable chemicals, no vapours, no incendiaries, nothing. Just a bit of fabric, and paper, some inert alloys and a trace of lubricant. Harmless!"

"I don't recognise the handwriting," Starscream pointed out, watching as Skywarp slit the tape and pinged the twine at Footloose.

"Me neither," Skywarp agreed, distractedly, scattering shreds of slightly-sparkly rumpled white tissue paper around his chair. "There's fragloads of paper in here. Who in Primus sends a box of paper?"

Starscream turned his attention to Skywarp's newspaper, and prodded his thrusters in an effort to slide the sheet out from under them; Skywarp surreptitiously pushed down harder against the table. "Come on, Warp, don't be an aft. If you don't want it, I do." He gave the sheet a quick tug, and-

"Primus!"

The angry yelp blared through the comparative calm with the insistency of a fire alarm, and there was a resounding _crash_ from Skywarp's corner. There was a snicker or two of impolite amusement at the recognition that the teleport had finally asked his chair for just that little bit too much, and had gone right over the back of it…

The expression on his face as he staggered to his feet and lurched angrily for the door wiped the smirks clean away; Footloose squeaked anxiously, and gave chase. Forceps gave Starscream a look.

"Hey, _I_ didn't do that!" the red Seeker asserted, irritably, quick to absolve himself of blame, and took charge, snatching the discarded box up off the floor to work out what had triggered such an outburst. "Oh holy Primus-"

Starscream stood and surveyed the murmuring crowd with a baleful expression on his dark face. "Who in _Primus name_ gave him this without checking _exactly _what the slag was in it?" he demanded, loudly, lifting the box.

There was an array of pointing fingers, all pointing at everyone else.

"Then you're _all_ a bunch of idiots!" He relinquished the box to Forceps. "Honestly. Do none of you pay attention to the environment you live in, or do you just hope the gist of a situation will make its way through your thick heads _by osmosis_?"

Forceps rumbled her engines, as though clearing his throat, and gave his arm a tug, coaxing him to sit. "You're making a scene," she pointed out.

"I think I'm entitled," he argued, sniffily. "So, um…" He lowered his voice. "Is it hers?" he wondered, quietly, watching as the surgeon carefully took the box and examined the contents… bringing out a small piece of royal-blue armour, edged with a scuffed trim of pale blue and yellow chequering, trailing wires and part of a rotator cuff, wrapped in mocking lengths of gaudy primrose and pale blue silk ribbon.

-no, wait… that wasn't just a piece of armour. It was a foot, and not a very gently excised one, either. There were groans of mixed disgust and horror from the assembled Autobots, and one or two of the more sensitive sparks actually staggered out of the room, trying not to purge their tanks.

Forceps nodded, tightly. "No doubt about it." She glanced up, met his gaze. "I don't like the implications of this."

"Me neither," Starscream agreed, grimly. "Although we _could_ see if we can extract any clues from it…" He sighed. "I better go see if I can track Skywarp down. Primus only knows who he'll try to kill while he's in this frame of mind."

He followed Warp's positional fix as far as he could; it was somewhere up in the clouds, and – he pinged Skywarp again to be sure – was departing. He grimaced up at the bad weather, and sighed. It was something of a relief to be grounded, actually, because it meant he didn't have to feel obliged to go chasing his errant wingmate through this _murk_.

It spoke volumes about his mood that he'd even left Footloose behind. She sat cross-legged on the dirt outside, accumulating her own little mud puddle, and gave him a sad, tired look.

"Where's that silly pain in the aft got to, hmm?" he wondered, settling down on the ground just under the shelter of the _Ark_, out of the rain; Footloose promptly climbed into his lap, spreading her mud onto his chassis. _Oh well. Looks like we'll be bathing again soon._

"Day am up," she explained, sadly, pointing into the rainclouds. "Wouldn't take, even when made please!"

"Wouldn't take you with him, hmm?" He hunched his shoulders and rested one elbow against his knee, hitching his battered wings forwards, and pinging at her antennae. "Probably for the best, Lucy."

She butted her head into his palm, and grumbled tiredly. "Why best? Wanted to go with!"

"He's in a grumpy mood. He wouldn't have been good company." 'Grumpy' was probably a contender for misnomer of the vorn, but then Footloose probably wouldn't have grasped the context behind 'murderous'.

"Could have helped make happy," she pointed out.

"Ahh… no. I don't think it's anything you could have helped with."

She was quiet for a minute or two. "Didn't like present and sparklies?"

"Ah, again, no. Not all presents are good." _Please, don't ask what was in it…! _

"Am trick? Like when Aunnie Ausep make medicine in energon candies?"

He seized on the analogy. "That's right."

They sat together in silence for a few breems, watching as the rain got heavier and the light diminished. Eventually, there was the low _tramp_ of a single pair of heavy footsteps, and Silverbolt emerged from the _Ark_'s main corridor. "Oh, you _are _still here, after all," he half-greeted. "We were worried you'd run off."

"Pish. I wouldn't get very far with this leg," Starscream sniped, grimly.

The Aerialbot settled a respectable but hopefully-companionable distance away. "Where's Skywarp?"

"Primus knows. Up there, somewhere." Starscream waved an arm at the gloom.

"Did you want us to go and try and coax him down?" Although he looked more at Footloose than at Starscream when he spoke, Silverbolt wore a gentle, concerned expression, and sounded fairly genuine. "The weather's supposed to get worse and I don't want him getting in trouble up there."

The Seeker made a face and shook his head. "Don't bother," he demurred, surprisingly affably. "Of all the places he could be right now, up there is probably the place he's least likely to come to harm. Down here he'll only pick fights with people to work his frustration off, and there's only _so _many times a mech can skate through by the shine on his skidplate without getting the bolts trounced out of him."

"…voice of experience?"

"You have _no_ idea."

Footloose clicked very quietly. "What if bad weather make lost, like Ska'fie?"

Starscream chuckled in spite of himself. "Oh, he'll be all right, Lucy. When Skyfire got lost, he and I were alone. There's plenty of us here to go look for Warp if he gets his silly aft in trouble."

"…haven't found Dack yet."

"No, not yet. But we will. All right?"

Footloose chirped sadly, and nodded.

Silverbolt watched the little exchange with a quiet admiration. _Maybe all we need to do to end the war is infest _Nemesis _with sparklings._ "Any idea what your brother will be doing, up there?" he wondered.

"Knowing Warp? It's best not to ask." Starscream smiled, wryly. "If you don't know, you can't get dragged in to help take the blame." Beat. "I imagine he's off rousing the Pit with some poor squishies somewhere."

Silverbolt gave him an alarmed look. "Surely you're not condoning his actions-"

Starscream maintained his dry grin. "I think you overestimate his ability. He's unarmed and angry, he'll be about as co-ordinated as an energy-depleted Menasor and probably get his aft handed to him."

When he finally elected to return, well after the storm had descended like fury onto the _Ark_ and turned the ground outside to mud, Skywarp was filthy and scorched and had a beautiful crack running full length up one side of his cockpit. At least he looked a little calmer than he had done before heading out.

"Feeling better?" Starscream wondered, not getting up just yet. Footloose stayed in his lap, watching out of wide, sad eyes as Skywarp approached over the mud.

The teleport grimaced, and kicked at a rock. "A bit," he groused, but didn't _sound_ better.

Footloose squelched over the mud towards him and held up her arms; this time he didn't need persuading, and indulged her with a long, tired hug before helping his wingmate to his feet. "Will make things fixed for Day," the little femme promised, clicking and rubbing cheeks.

"Gonna take more than hugs to fix, Spark," he sighed, tailing Starscream own the corridor, dragging his feet and deliberately making hideous scraping, squalling noises as his thrusters grated across the plating. "This is such a load of smeltery, Screamer. I swear, he's spraying his marks up all over _our_ territory, and I'm gonna kill him for it."

"Nice to know that's all friendship is, to Decepticons," a little voice commented to another little voice, just a fraction _too _loudly, in the background. "A pissing contest over who has _more_ of something."

Skywarp flared up; he wasn't sure what it meant, but knew it was derogatory. "Do you want to come over here and say that again, Auto-slag?" he challenged, loudly, tensing into a fighting stance. "Or would you rather I came _over there _to kick your slagging aft into the middle of the next vorn?!"

Bumblebee looked like he'd have been happy if the ground had opened up and swallowed him, and he'd _already_ been cringing and looking like he'd been ambushed in the corridor by the speaker, Cliffjumper. In turn, the red minibot looked like he was regretting speaking _quite _so loudly, and he was _never _one to turn down the opportunity of kicking Decepticon skidplate.

"Not _now_, Warp," Starscream despaired, latching a hand around his wingmate's arm and dragging him away down the corridor.

Skywarp tolerated it only until he got over the surprise. "Since when do _you_ back away from a fucking fight?" he snapped, jerking his arm free, looking like he was almost at the point of assaulting his wingmate instead. Footloose squeaked in alarm and clung to his shoulder vent to avoid falling to the floor.

"Since I just got out of their fragging _brig_, that's when," Starscream rounded on him. "I don't want you putting yourself straight into the cell I just vacated."

They were almost optic-to-optic. "I'm not having them spreading _rumours_ about me, Screamer. Might not be any gloss off _your_ nose but I don't want that bunch of losers thinking its nothing more than a meaningless squabble-"

"What does it matter," Starscream said, lowering his voice, "if they _do_ think it's all just some stupid dispute over territory? It's not as if we need their help, we just need a base of operations, and energon. Our business is our business, let them believe what they like. All right?"

Skywarp backed down, sullenly. "It matters if they decide our 'pissing contest' is unimportant enough they can kick us out," he grumbled, folding his arms. "What _does_ that mean, anyway? Stupid Autobots."

"There's sparklings involved, and these soft-sparked liberals will do _anything_ for little ones," Starscream reminded him. "They won't kick us out until the sparklings are safe, and at that point we don't need their sympathy any more. Once Lucy and Seem are safely back on Cybertron, we don't have to worry about them any more. The three of us can conclude our own business at our leisure."

Skywarp actually looked _disappointed_. "Yeah," he agreed, reluctantly, unconsciously tightening his gentle grip on his little girl; she clicked and rubbed cheeks. "I guess."

Starscream pursed his lips, but didn't challenge it. It was hard to maintain an air of lofty, hostile superiority when you had such a devoted aficionado that made it very clear you could do nothing wrong, and… Pit, he figured even he would miss the little brat, in a way.

They rounded the corner, and almost ran smack into Jazz. The saboteur gave them an affable smile and slipped on past them.

"How much of that did you hear?" Starscream challenged, and the smaller mech paused.

"How much of what?" Jazz wondered, over his shoulder. "I didn't hear anything." He offered a smile. "Even if I did, it's none of my business, right?" He spread his hands, affably. "I know when to keep my mouth shut."


	19. Chapter 18

**Warped - Chapter Eighteen**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N: **I have no witty comments today. And no I'm totally not planning the next story or anything (and DAMN is it ever going to end up enormously AU at this rate...) There's probably a smattering of typos in there that I missed; give me a poke and I'll fix 'em.

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Forceps had already returned to the medical suite by the time the two Seekers finally managed to make their way down the corridor to get Skywarp's new suite of injuries looked at; she'd taken the box with her, but hadn't yet reopened it, leaving the flaps interleaved across the top. She was instead amusing herself by working on Starscream's new thruster complex; the fusion core was in place, and the rest of it was _slowly_ beginning to take shape around it. She watched as they came in, visibly casting her gaze skywards at how _filthy_ all three had got, but began to clear things away.

Starscream gave his wingmate a tired look; Skywarp had gone immediately to his usual spot on the worktop, and was swinging his thrusters and trying to look his usual chirpy, impertinent self… but his shoulders were sagging and his wings were low and under the fake devil-may-care smile he just generally looked _glum_. The poor mech probably hadn't got so emotionally involved in something in a very long time, the red Seeker considered; probably hadn't been forced to _think_ quite so hard about things, either-

"Unnol Sta'zim?" There was a little _tug_ at his fingers, and he glanced down to find Footloose by his feet, gazing up at him out of appealingly large greenish optics. "I make help?"

He smiled, although it looked very forced. "I'm not sure there's a lot you can do, Button," he explained, carefully. _How did you explain to a child that you didn't want her to see that someone had very obviously hurt her dam, and was now taunting them by sending parts of her back in the post?_ "Maybe you should go and see if Teletraan has any games installed."

The sparkling shook her head; it was a predictable response from her, but that didn't make it any less annoying. "Can make help if to look for Ama," she explained.

The bigger mech rumbled a sigh out of his vents. "We're not going to be doing anything you can help with," he repeated. "Trust me. You'll get bored, and then you'll make a nuisance of yourself. Go amuse yourself for a cycle or two. All right?"

Her lips had already pulled together in a pout. "But not fair. Want to help!"

He gritted his teeth and crouched so he was closer to her eye level. "I know you do, and I appreciate it," he confirmed, giving her a gentle pat on the helm; she ducked back away from him, grumpily, folding her arms huffily. "But I promise this is not going to be fun, and it's not going to be good for sparklings. All right?"

"But want Ama!" Footloose protested. "Make more help to find, and find her quicker!"

"Lucy-… I don't think this-… rrgh." Starscream rubbed his temples, and gave her a long, critical look before finally glancing up at the small clustering of machines in the medbay. "Could someone come take charge of the little one, please?"

She squeaked her annoyance. "Not say 'get out' again! Am not go!"

"You should listen to your elders," he growled, losing patience, standing and moving away. "Trust me, you are _not _going to stay in here while we work, getting under our thrusters."

Footloose looked like she was on the point of degenerating into a raging little ball of temper; her little arms were stiff and her fists were tensed at her sides, and she _peeped_ her siren, just the once. "Not _fair_! Want to help!"

"Hey, Button…" Jazz swooped to the rescue; he crouched beside her and caught her little arms, pulling her against him in a half-hug half-restraint. "How about we go find something more fun for you to do?"

She squirmed and stamped a foot. "Not want _fun, _want to stay here and make help!"

"Oh, I don't think they'll be doing anything little sparks can join in with," Jazz argued, gently. "You'll have to sit and watch and that'll be no fun – right, Sepp?"

The surgeon gave him a glance, and nodded just once. "Definitely boring," she confirmed. "You know when you and Seem have to come sit in my office because there's no-one else that can look after you? Just like that."

Footloose pouted in disgust and nodded. "Aunnie Ausep office full of long words and borings," she confirmed, glumly, fingers sneaking into her mouth. Having a negative come from Jas – who wasn't a stuck-in-the-mud like Sta'zim, who always said 'get out' irrespective of what she was asking – put a dampener on her determination.

"Let's go find you some paint," Jazz suggested, scooping her up off the floor; she didn't protest, this time. "I'm sure we've got some bright colours and big bits of paper somewhere. We can do some art, or something."

"Present for Ama?" she wondered, around her fingers. "For when gets home?"

"Yeah, if you like! Good idea…"

Forceps waited until the voices had faded down the corridor before returning her attention to the morbid present Skywarp had been sent. "Okay," she suggested, carefully. "Now I _know_ it's going to be a bit of a stretch, _but_. The suggestion has been made that whoever sent the box might have inadvertently left some… _clues_, for want of a better description… in it. Who sent it, where they sent it from, and what exactly their motivation is."

"Yeah, because they're going to _totally_ have left all that written down in there," Skywarp griped, from his perch. "There was a load of fluffy papery slag, and her foot, and that was it."

"Well, certainly on the face of it, it looks that way," Starscream agreed, examining the box. "It think it seems, I don't know… unlikely? That whoever sent _this_ wouldn't have included some way of giving him proof of delivery. Some sort of transmitter, maybe… hey, Autobot?" He looked up at Ratchet. "Do you have a scanner?"

"Yes, in storage over there," the doctor agreed, waving an arm at a cupboard but making no effort to go and get it. "You know? As well as a scanner, I have a _name,_ Decepticon."

Starscream ignored the jibe, already on his way to fetch the device; his route took him past Perceptor, who until now had gone unnoticed in the corner, and brushed past the quiet scientist closely enough to knock him reeling with his wing.

Perceptor had actually only bothered coming down to check on his _uulu_s – they looked buoyant and remarkably healthy, even if they _had_ been grossly overfed by a certain overenthusiastic sparkling – but had been attracted over by the drama that had arrived a breem or two after he'd set the scanner running. Although he'd initially seemed a little leery of getting _too_ close to the pair of Decepticons, the continued lack of raised voices had been reassuring and he'd finally given in to curiosity, moving hesitantly along the sideboard until coming closer to where Skywarp sat.

"May I?" the microscope wondered, gesturing to the box.

"Yeah, knock yourself out," Skywarp sighed, grimly, watching as the microscope picked up the discarded box and gave it a brief scrutiny. "Not like I'm gonna be able to do much with it."

"Look," Perceptor commented, tilting the box and giving it a little shake. "Sand."

"Oh yeah, sand, 'cause that answers _all_ of life's problems," Skywarp scoffed, miserably, glaring at him. "It's not like half of this mud-ball's surface is covered in it, or anything."

"Ha, yes, I see your point. Seriously, however? This might work in our favour. If we can narrow down the exact chemical and geological makeup of it," Perceptor explained, ignoring the Seeker's sarcasm, carefully brushing the precious grains into a convenient Petri dish, "we stand a chance of isolating its origin."

"You mean we might find out where it came from?" The teleport cocked his head, marginally more interested.

"We may indeed!" Perceptor inclined his head. "If you'd excuse me…?"

Skywarp watched him vanish off; _funny how keen everyone was to help now there was definitely Autobot involvement_, he considered, sourly, but kept his thoughts to himself. The fact was, they _were_ helping, and in the process that was maybe (hopefully) helping find TC. Griping about it would only frag them off, and he had no desire to be right back at the beginning and told where he could go stick it.

Forceps had finally cleared her workspace enough to examine the foot; Skywarp winced, and watched her poke at it, for a while, before sliding to the floor and going to her side.

"Ignoring the fact that someone's ripped Squeaky's slagging foot off," Skywarp wondered, awkwardly, pacing about in a fidgety sort of way next to the table, "would you say it's, ah… healthy?"

The surgeon gave him a glance, and she knew he was actually asking _is she still alive? _"Well, there's still small quantities of joint fluid around the hydraulics, and the smallest trace of liquid energon in the motor relay," Forceps confirmed, quietly, using a stylus to carefully manipulate pieces of plating out of the way. "It's a vaguely reassuring sign. It would have dried up within a dozen or so orns if she were… ah, non-functioning. It means she might still be operational."

"…only… 'might'?"

"I won't lead you on," she said, softly. "Someone out there is playing a game with you – to what end, I have no idea – and it looks like she's become one of the playing pieces. This?" She ran her fingers almost tenderly over the scuffed top curve of the amputated foot. "Was probably done purely to get at _you_, not to punish _her_ for some perceived infraction."

Skywarp averted his gaze, angrily, and folded his arms tighter across his chest. "Well it worked," he grumbled, darkly. "They sure got at me. Is it too much to ask I be allowed to get at _them_?"

"Soon as we find them, Warp," Starscream promised, rummaging in the cupboards. "You can have first dibs, so long as you leave some for me."

Not even Ratchet quibbled the violent sentiment being espoused. It actually seemed _more_ distasteful to argue it – because it felt far too close to the idea of _forgiving_ the psychopath that had done this.

"Someone's clearly been watching far too much television," Ratchet commented, quietly.

"What do you mean?" Forceps gave him a look.

"Well, it's probably more cliché than anything these days, but, ah… it was said that kidnappers would send parts of their victims back in the post. Bits that wouldn't kill the victim, like an ear or a finger, to scare the victim's family into paying a ransom more easily."

"_What_ ransom?" Skywarp despaired, throwing his arms up. "Nobody's asked us for anything! And what could they want from _me_, I don't have _anything_ worth_-_"

"Don't speak too soon," Forceps interrupted, softly. She was extracting something from underneath the brutalised armour.

…A piece of crisply-folded white paper.

"I think this is for you," she invited, holding it out to him.

"I don't want it," Skywarp argued, folding his arms, self-protectively. "It must be a mistake."

"It's got your name on it," the surgeon pointed out, still holding it out for him, angling it very slightly so he could see the heavy black handwriting more clearly.

Skywarp dithered for another few long moments before taking it very gingerly from the outstretched hand. _Skywarp;_ the handwriting seemed to mock him. _This here? Is all for you. Is all __because__ of you. Because you're such a brainless moron and couldn't keep your hands to yourself, __out__ of everyone else's business and __off__ the first pretty bit of kibble to show an interest in you for howevermanythousand vorns- _

He lost his nerve. "You open it," he forced it into Starscream's hands the instant he was close enough. "I don't want to know what it says."

Starscream barely flickered an optic. "Coward," he grumbled, unfolding and scrutinising the sheet.

Skywarp watched as his wingmate's expression gradually went from irritable to genuinely concerned. "What, what? What does it say?" he chivvied.

"I thought you didn't want to know?" Starscream reminded, dryly, then gave him a wary look. "It's from an old 'friend' of yours," he observed, softly. "Siphon."

Skywarp's shoulders sagged in startled disbelief. "What? No-… no, that can't be right! He's dead!" he protested. "I killed him!"

"Apparently not well enough," Starscream disagreed, softly, using his thumb to smooth the folds out of the paper. "Did you _check_ him after you threw him off the edge of the rift?"

"There was no way he could have survived a fall like that," Skywarp argued, but there was no weight behind his convictions, and his voice was almost _pleading_. "It must be from someone else, Screamer-! It's _got_ to be! Another of Cali's loyalists, or something. An old Codustral employee who's sour that he lost his job because of us. Not that… that stupid crackpot pipeline-… he _must_ be dead."

"Well whoever he is," Starscream held out the scrap, and at last Skywarp took it, tentatively, "he doesn't seem interested in coming to an amicable agreement."

"No kidding," the teleport murmured, and his wings pitched even _lower_.

"May I?" Forceps wondered, quietly, holding out her hand.

Skywarp only relinquished the scrap to her large fingers when he was sure there were definitely no more details it could possibly give up. He looked… well, the closest term would have been _nauseated_. And Forceps understood his dismay very easily. _My dearest Skywarp. I have your wingmate, your sparkling and your femme, _she read._ If you want any of them back, I want Cali. In good health and functioning normally, without any attached tricks or monitoring devices, hand-delivered to my base of operations by yourself. I suspect you know the frequency to contact me on. __Siphon__._

She gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "We'll find him. If _he_ could find Thundercracker, _we_ can find him. All right?"

Skywarp just sighed and studied his fingers, morosely.

"Okay, well, first things first. Let's see if we can find a transmitter in there anywhere," Starscream suggested, at last. He lifted the scanner and consulted the readout as it booted up, checking it was tuned to the appropriate frequencies

…Unexpectedly, the device said _cheeeeip_ as he went past Skywarp with it. "What in the-?" Starscream backed up and waved the sensor more closely over him.

"What's it doing?" Skywarp craned his neck back to get a look at his wingmate.

"Sensing," Starscream replied, distractedly; his lips were pursed into a grimace of concern. The low chirring got gradually louder and higher and finally became a fine shrilling as he placed the reader down over a spot on the midpoint in Skywarp's repaired right wing.

"Uh. Is that a bad sign?" Skywarp wondered, although he had the sort of look on his face that said _oops._

"No wonder they've been so quick at working out where you were!" Starscream snapped, and gave him a swat around the back of the head with the reader. "Who was it reattached your wing, the first time?"

Skywarp pouted and rubbed his helm. "Well, Soundwave's cassettes got Hook to do-"

"You let _Hook_ put you back together, with him in the knowledge you were going to escape, and you didn't _question it_?!" Starscream only just resisted the urge to shove his wingmate off his perch and bury his own face in his hands. "You've got a frigging… _homing beacon _in here, Skywarp! They know exactly where you are, every astro-second of every orn."

"Well that's not _my_ fault," Skywarp argued, optics glittering a fraction hotter. "What did you expect me to do, ask if they were playing tricks on me before they reattached my wing to me?" He gave his wingmate a shove. "I was running depleted, my side hurt where Megs had yanked my wing off, and our Bucketheaded so-called-leader had threatened to leave me in solitary for a whole Terran _year_, so _please forgive me_ for taking an opportunity when it presented itself!"

Starscream wrinkled his lip, but backed down rather than labour the point. "Well, we _could_ play this to our advantage," he accepted, grudgingly. "So long as we can make it look like you're still wearing the beacon? It'll be easier for us to sneak around unnoticed. If it looks like you're still skulking around Autobot HQ, they won't be looking so hard for you outside."

Skywarp muttered something dirty in his wingmate's direction, and sat and fidgeted his thrusters while Forceps began to peel apart the top layers of plating on the back of his wing.

"I'm going to put an idea out there," Starscream mused, unexpectedly worriedly, watching as the surgeon extracted the little disc of circuitry and filamentous array of antennae from the black wing. "Because I want to just see if anyone else agrees with me. All right?"

There was a murmuring of agreement from the assembled machines, and an array of differently-coloured optics had fixed upon him.

"Hook put the positioning beacon into Skywarp's wing, right?"

Nods of agreement greeted the statement.

"And yet, this," he lifted the 'ransom note', "came from Siphon. Is anyone else seeing a very unwanted connection forming, here?"

Skywarp flickered his gaze between the nodding heads, and grimaced. "Am I the only one not getting it?"

Starscream levelled a serious look at him. "Siphon knows where you are because he has access to the code the positioning signal is broadcasting on. He would only know to look for a signal if he knew there was a beacon, and he would only know there was a beacon by being told. And he would only be _told_ if he'd made the appropriate… connections."

"So what you're saying," Ratchet hazarded, softly, "is that Siphon would appear to have joined the Decepticons."

Starscream didn't dither with his confirmation. "Exactly. Which means we're not just trying to find and outwit _him_, any more, but Megatron as well."

0o0o0o0

"Thundercracker? Are you awake?"

Siphon's captive Seeker onlined one optic and studied the silhouette in the doorway. "I wasn't, but I am now," he confirmed, buzzily. He rebooted his vocaliser with a little _khuff_-noise, annoyedly, and thankfully the buzz vanished. "What's wrong?"

There was the familiar _zzt_ of the field powering down, and Deuce slipped through, clutching a tool case. "Siphon's gone out," he explained, continually shooting glances over his shoulder as if expecting the tanker to appear out of the ether any second and catch him in the act. "Megatron too. Pit, the place is abandoned, pretty much, 'cept two groundlings who are too busy surfing the Earth inter-net to keep an eye on me."

Made sense, Thundercracker mused. Since Megatron had arrived, Deuce had seemed _very_ much cowed back into line. Reassuringly, he'd remained his plain old neutral self, though, and it was _starting_ to look rather like it was a careful act.

"Toolbox," Thundercracker pointed out, sitting forwards; the small movement disturbed Slipstream, who mumbled confusedly and tumbled away from his perch on his arm, into the sand. "What are you up to?" A thought struck him. "Have you actually managed to get a look at how the collars work?"

Deuce – for once – didn't back away and ramble about irrelevancies. He nodded, just once. "I've studied the plans," he husked, softly, opening the case and shuffling through the untidy assortment of tools. "It's effective, but a pretty simple design. I should be able to hotwire one and get it off in the time he's gone."

"Good." Thundercracker cast a glance sidelong, and met Pulsar's gaze for a fraction of an astro-second. "Can you get started? I want to give her the best head start that we can."

Deuce wavered, a microscopic heat-lance clutched in his hand. "Don't you think we should try and get the sparkling out?" he wondered, looking down at Slipstream, who had woken up enough to be curiously investigating the contents of the case.

"Yes, I do," Thundercracker agreed, tiredly. "but that would require that we took off two collars – the little one, and a guardian – and we're not going to have time. Besides." He glanced sidelong at the dim blue optic that watched them discuss its owner's fate. "That'd mean we had to leave her behind. And I'm not going to be responsible for that… that _crackpot pipeline _pulling any more parts off her. It's the most vulnerable that have to get out, and that's her. Seem and I are in pretty good health right now, we can hold out a little longer."

The truck dithered for a moment, not sure how happy he was allowed to be with the decision – the fact he personally wanted to get the femme out notwithstanding, it just didn't seem logical to get the most smashed-up and least-able-to-survive prisoner out – but nodded

_Ok. Ok_. Deuce cycled cold air to try and keep his internal temperature down, and offlined as many non-vital systems as he could get away with. It didn't help that he was running a high resistance, stressed and hot, and his spark felt like a drop of molten tin in his chassis, the last thing he wanted was to have to devote essential processing power to stopping non-essential systems from shaking!

It was microscopic-level work; he was forced to pull her right up against him just to get close enough to see what he was doing. For her part, Pulsar was stiff as a board, optic offlined; she might be terrified, but at least she wasn't moving about, Deuce consoled himself, miserably.

"Deuce? What doing?"

The truck glanced down to find Slipstream watching attentively from by his elbow as he worked on Pulsar's collar. "Getting this off Ama," he replied, softly. "So she can get out."

"I help?"

"Not this time. Delicate work." Deuce smiled, anxiously, and gave him a friendly pat on the head; it was already taking every last ounce of self-control not to shake, add a sparkling to the mix and he might end up blowing all three of them up.

Slipstream backed down, amicably. "…I watch?" he suggested, instead.

"So long as you're quiet," Deuce allowed, gently.

There was a moment of heavy tension when Deuce unclicked the clasp holding the collar shut, and an unpleasant high signal that jarred off everyone's communications receivers, but that was it. The collar loosened up, easily; the navy mech hooked a pair of wires in place to extend the control circuitry, opened the loop as far as it would go, and gingerly passed it up over Pulsar's head. Done. No explosions, no damage. He let himself vent all the stale air that had built up in a long, shaky sigh of relief.

"All right, Pulsar, listen. I know you can hear me," Deuce coaxed, backing up. "I don't know when Siphon will be back, but I know it'll be soon. You have to be gone before he gets back. All right?"

She kept her gaze fixed on the floor; he resisted the urge to shake her.

"Please, Pulse. I can't get the collar back on you and if you don't go-… we're both dead," he pleaded, and at last her head moved a tiny fraction and her gaze lit upon his knees. "He's already going to be blazing mad at me, but he'll get Th-… he'll keep pulling bits off _you _until there's nothing left, and he'll probably do it _quicker _to stop you escaping."

He pinged her some data on the route she needed to follow, and got a very weak but confirmatory ping in reply.

"I know you can do this," he reassured, softly. "You're stronger than you look – you've survived this far! And you've got plenty of time." Although that was something of a lie – she _hadn't_ got plenty of time, they'd catch her if she left it even just a _breem_ longer. "Just follow my instructions, and you'll be out. You'll be out, you'll be away from Siphon and Megatron, and you'll be on your way to safety. All right?"

"Right," she confirmed; her faint voice was brittle as old plastic. It took several attempts to stand, and she was tottery as a sparkling testing a new protoform when she finally managed to stay upright, but her gyroscopes rapidly caught up with her.

Navigating her limping way along the corridors was a living nightmare, and without Deuce's map she'd have been completely and hopelessly lost. Her vision was bad enough in _good_ light, but trying to make her way in the dim cave system, with one optic completely blind and the other so blurry it might as well have been offline as well, was almost impossible. She had to resort to navigating her way by touch, running her fingers along the wall and trying not to trip over any obstacles.

Doing all that hastily, before Siphon came along and found her – because Primus only knew what he'd do as a punishment, even the very worst things she was capable of imagining seemed pale by comparison to the things she sensed lurking in the depths of his depravity – just made everything worse. By the time she found the exit, tripped over her one broken foot and tumbled down a sand dune to what felt like the floor of a dry riverbed, her core temperature had already skyrocketed from stress.

It was light but _dull_,outside; it was hot, but the terrible heat of direct sunlight was absent. There must be some sort of storm, she realised, struggling to stand, buffeted by vicious gusts that scoured down her plating. Deuce's map directed a little further, though, and maybe – hopefully – there'd be shelter. A way home. It was a vain hope, but combined with the continued lack of Siphon and his hated fingers and his hated chemical bribery gave her just enough impetus to keep going. She oriented herself in the right direction, and staggered onwards.

0o0o0o0

"What chance do you think she stands?"

Deuce had already put his tools away, and returned instead with energon. "I'm trying to be hopeful," he said, offering Thundercracker a torn look. "I-I mean… there's a sandstorm outside, and it's near impenetrable to vision. The shroud of dust should hide her from Siphon… but it'll probably clog her vents." He looked miserable. "I've probably killed her, haven't I?"

Thundercracker remained silent; empty reassurances that she was probably fine and would make it to safety weren't his way of doing things, and yet it seemed unfair to confirm that yeah, she probably _was_ dead while Slipstream was still in audio range. "When's Siphon due back?"

Deuce was about to answer when a startled voice interrupted from behind. "Where is she?!"

Ah, well that answered _that_ question. Siphon stood framed in the doorway, looking torn between shocked and _furious._

Deuce met him in the doorway. "What? Where is who?"

Now was not a good time to feign innocence, it seemed. There was a sharp _bang_! and suddenly Deuce was lurching away backwards, clutching his arm against himself and trailing vibrantly-coloured fluids.

"You _dare_ try and play me for a fool?" the tanker spat, hate dripping from his words, chasing the wailing mech across the sandy floor. "You _dare_ sneak around behind my back, and think you can get away with it?!"

Deuce scuttled away from him, fizzing out static-filled near-incoherent apologies; _I'm sorry I didn't mean to make you angry please don't hurt me-_

Siphon glared down at him, ignoring the sobs that bubbled from his vocaliser. "You are _not _so important to me that I have to keep you in one piece," he snapped. "After everything I've done for you, at possible cost to my own life and liberty, _this _is how you repay me? With… with this _treachery_, sneaking around behind my back?!" He delivered a swift, unnecessary kick to his side.

Deuce mantled his arms protectively up over his head, sobbing.

"If you'd _wanted_ that worthless jumble of reject parts, you only had to _say so_," Siphon finally let his grating voice drop to a growl. "Now you can _stay_ in here until I decide you've learned your lesson, you… filthy _ingrate_."

The tanker turned to find Thundercracker on his feet and blocking the doorway, defensively. "If you're going to take it out on anyone, take it out on someone who can defend himself," the Seeker instructed, frostily. "You know he's only ever brave enough to stick up for himself when he's off his meds, and then it's not so much _brave_ as it is _stupid_."

Having a wall of irritable Seeker in his way took the wind out of Siphon's sails; he instinctively pinged the collar and watched as the bigger mech winced and wobbled… but remained in the way. "He's a disobedient little wretch," he argued, angrily. "Letting the femme go? I honestly never thought he had it in him, and-"

"Oh _please_," Thundercracker scoffed, derisively, trying to ignore the way stasis prickled down his primary motor column and left his legs feeling like lumps of rubber. "_Him_? Look at him! Where do you think he's going to suddenly have developed the cast-iron constitution to defy _you _from? The only thing _he_ did to let her go was be too distracted to seal the field when he left." He lifted his chin. "_I_ took her collar off. I encouraged her to run. So if you're going to punish _anyone_, make it _me_."

Siphon dithered, angrily. He clearly didn't believe him, but was having trouble putting his reasons into words, because – lies or not – what the Seeker said was making sense. It certainly made more sense then the idea _Deuce_ had encouraged her to run! The Seeker was a known rule-breaker and had been resisting his incarceration every step of the way; the only times he'd not said _no_ and rejected every command he'd been given was when he'd been drugged and insensible. Deuce, on the other hand, rarely found the spirit to say "no" to _anything_. "You'll forgive me for failing to see the logic behind your words," he snapped, giving the weakened flier a shove and finally managing to make his way past. "Why spring the most _worthless_ from captivity? You're not making sense."

"Think about it. I couldn't see to remove my own collar, and I can look after the little one better if he stays here with me – I mean, Primus! How is _she_ gonna look after him when she's incapable of looking after herself? She was the only viable choice." Thundercracker stared the little tanker down. "Besides." It took more effort than it should have to force the words from his vocaliser. "She's just another noisy little policebike. Waste of good parts. Expendable. If she bites it, out there? Big deal. At least she's still got our message out." He leaned down closer to the field, so he and Siphon were only a handbreadth apart; the security field played static all up his chassis. "They'll find her, regardless of whether she's functional or not. They'll find _her_ and when they find _her_ they'll find _us_."

Siphon huffed angry noises from his vents, but was in a corner that he wouldn't get out of without losing face. "I'd planned on 'letting her go' soon, anyway," he defended himself, sniffily. "It still plays to my agenda. It'll still get the message to your airheaded wingmate, regardless of whether she's in _one_ piece or _fifty_." He leaned up closer to the Seeker, and static crackled between them. "And trust me," he murmured, very softly. "You have not heard the last of this, Decepticon." A nasty smile played briefly across the thin lips. "Far from it. I still have work to do, and since she's not here? You'll have to stand in for her."

Before Thundercracker you challenge him, the tanker had whirled about, and was gone. The Seeker remained in the doorway, listening to the departing footsteps and allowing his bulk to sag against the wall. It was a mark of how depleted he was, the way even that brief period of partial stasis had left him feeling… _shaky_.

Deuce was huddled in the corner, still hugging his injured arm to himself, but at least his sobs had eased to a soft, simmering kind of static. "Th-thank you," he whooped, quietly.

"Yeah, well, don't make a big deal of it," Thundercracker settled opposite, trying hard to maintain the hostile tilt to his helm. "You got her out when I asked you, it's only fair I should take any fallout for it. I only wish I'd got to him before he got the chance to kill your hand."

"I can f-fix it. Since he gave me the bangle, I m-made sure I had some s-spares in easy reach." The truck forced a smile. "One of the few benefits of n-not being able to slow d-down. Soon as he lets m-me out, I'll get myself patched up."

0o0o0o0

His efforts to hide his concern had led Skywarp into making a gross nuisance of himself, and an out-of-patience Starscream had bundled him rather violently out of the medical suite with the comment that if he even _thought _about coming back in the next cycle or two or six or – frag it if he came in without Screamer's permission, Prime's threats would be the least of his worries, Screamer would get him put into stasis himself. So now he was pacing the corridors, looking for something to do that would satisfy his boredom, but at the same time not get him into too much trouble. He pinged for a location off Footloose, and got a very _very _weak response, which suggested she was in recharge; he followed it anyway, all the way to the rec-room.

Skywarp hesitated in the doorway; it looked pretty empty, aside from a very quiet television in the corner turned to a 24-hour news channel. Surely Jazz hadn't dumped her off here and done a runner? He _really_ didn't want to have to hike around the _Ark_ asking where the two were! _How shameful, the idiot Decepticon loses his own sparkling. _The ping had definitely come from here, though, and after a moment or two of scrutiny the top of a dark head revealed itself, just visible over the back of the chair in front of the television.

Sure enough, Jazz was on the sofa, his heels resting on the shallow table in front, quietly watching the news. On the table there was a sheet or two of paper covered in scrawls of thick, bright paint, and a minuscule storybook – sized for a human child, so it was even small for Footloose, let alone Jazz's large hands – and a little empty two-handled cup, and in Jazz's arms a painty little silver-wrapped parcel lay and recharged quietly.

Jazz watched as Skywarp _thumped_ down on the next seat along; the durable foam _creaked_ ominously under his bulk, but held up quite happily. "Kicked out?" he prompted.

Skywarp wrinkled his lip in a sneer. "Ah, shut up."

The two watched the television in silence, for a while; at least, attempted it. Skywarp sat glaring at the set, his shoulders hunched, arms crossed defensively, and his optics burned a low, hostile damson. It was almost as if he was trying to force the TV to spontaneously combust.

"You know, I know it's not what you Decepticons _do,_" Jazz invited, good-humouredly, as the human newsreader progressed onto financial news and Skywarp's expression turned into a sort of disgusted pout at why-in-Primus-name-they-were-watching-_this-_load-of-old-smelt, "but if you wanted to talk abo-"

"No," Skywarp interrupted, offering up a half-hearted scowl. "No talking."

"Fair enough." Jazz inclined his head, and smiled. "The offer's there if you want it." He glanced down at Footloose, and rose to his feet with her. "I think she'd rather be with Day, you know?" he commented, carefully rearranging her and passing her down to the dark Seeker.

Footloose stirred, very briefly, emerging just far enough out of her thermal foil to latch her little arms around Skywarp's neck, but was soon humming peacefully in recharge again. Jazz had actually managed to get the little scrap to have a bath, Skywarp noticed, with an abstract sort of amusement, but paint had very rapidly replaced the mud.

"Screamer never actually met him," he volunteered, at last, reluctantly. "Stupid… _pipeline_."

"The one who has your family? Your brother, your little one?" Jazz prompted.

It spoke volumes about the teleport's state of mind that for once he didn't even quibble over the familial reference. "Yeah." Skywarp ran his thumb over Footloose's little antennae, absentmindedly smoothing the kinks out of them. "The mech's a sociopath – and I mean it, he's _seriously_ unbalanced."

"Even more than Megatron?"

Skywarp managed a half-smile; the Auto-dork had actually _resisted_ the urge to say the 'even more than you, Warp?' that he'd been expecting. "Yeah," he confirmed, softly. "I had the, uh… _pleasure_… of working with him when we were having issues with Blue. I swear, of all Cali's heavies, he was the one I hated most. Fatigue might have been the muscle, and Deuce was hyperactive enough to make _all_ the deliveries single-handed, but none of 'em freaked me out as much as Siphon."

0o0o0o0

Anthony Kendrick, a struggling professor of archaeology formerly of the University of Lampeter, was… frustrated. He'd been making good progress today, in the latest excavations in Amarna, but that had been _before_ the weather turned inclement, and the incoming sandstorm had driven him away from the dig, and back to the sanctuary of his temporary base in El-Hawata. He just _knew_ that by the time he got back? There'd be a whole new layer of sand across all his careful excavations, and he'd have to start over. _Brilliant_.

The scuffed apartment block they were leasing was hardly prime real estate, but at least it was comfortable, had an old but functional air-conditioner, and most importantly was pretty sandproof, so he was happy (well, in a manner of speaking) to sit surfing the internet until the storm had expended its fury and blown itself out. He could sit and sort his research – all two pages of it – in relative comfort. He muttered sourly under his breath and glared at the email he was trying to send, watching it keep timing out.

He just happened to glance up and out of his window – was the sandstorm beginning to lessen, yet? – at just the right time to see it-… see him? Whatever. The thing staggered past his first-floor window, just tall enough that he could see the top curve of its head; he lurched to his feet and hurled himself at the window to check he wasn't seeing things, and stared out into the storm to watch as the creature – was that one of those spacefaring robots? – tripped over its own broken feet, collapsing into a wall. That seemed to kill any forward momentum it still had; as he watched, it slumped down in a corner just out of the way of the worst of the gale, and didn't get back up.

Even through the whirling sand, he could see the poor thing looked pretty brutalised, colours that probably would once have been bright and clear now sandblasted to a dull grimy brown, hugging its one remaining arm to itself, eyes broken, antennae all shredded, trailing loose wiring from every joint-space, and probably packed tight with windblown detritus. It huddled down in the almost-shelter of its corner, tucking itself down into a ball, and began to accumulate its own little dune around its broken feet. It looked like pure dumb luck that it had decided to plant itself here and not keep going, because another couple of hundred feet would have taken it clean into the Nile.

Well, it sure couldn't stay here, it'd probably die of exposure, or something. He almost laughed at the idea – it seemed nothing short of ludicrous, a giant goddamn _robot_ dying of exposure… But it looked so completely pathetic, out there in the scouring wind, with its dim eyes, its broken plating. Sand stuck to the trails of lubricant that oozed slowly around its chest from an injury in its armless shoulder.

Emails could wait – it had timed out again, anyway. Kendrick was suddenly burning with curiosity, and no small degree of sympathy. _It's a robot_, he reminded himself. _If it's one of those shape-shifting ones that's been using our home as a wargames simulator – yeah, as if it could be anything __else__, you idiot – it probably doesn't __deserve__ sympathy. _But he felt it anyway. He emerged from his apartment without even bothering to secure the door, and bounded down the stairs three at a time.

"Shouldn't go out, Tony," one of the more permanent residents of the block cautioned, from where he sat on the threadbare old sofa in the foyer, reading one of the newspapers. "Bad weather!"

"Yeah, I know," the scientist agreed, dryly, extracting a clear polythene bag from his work jacket and giving it a good shake; looked clear enough to see through properly. "I need to go check on something. Won't be long, eh?"

"At least we agree on something!" The man returned to his newspaper. "You may be gone less time than you think."

Kendrick peered out into the dust; it was thick as sea-fog, out there, and just as impenetrable. _Ugh. _He hesitated in the doorway just long enough to wrap handkerchiefs around his nose and mouth and pull the plastic bag down just enough to cover his eyes, before stepping out into the storm. And _damn, _he wished he hadn't – it was like being assaulted by a boxer wrapped in sandpaper. He grunted in discomfort and leaned his shoulder into the wind.

The robot hadn't moved; it was still in its corner, still accumulating sand.

"Um, hi? Hi!" He yelled, over the hissing, angry winds, and waved his arms. "Hello there! Are you okay?" _Stupid question._ "Er, can I call someone for you?"

The blue gaze angled very slightly down and to one side, and he felt a flicker of unease at being trapped in that alien stare. Was it about to attack him? Earthly animals were at their most dangerous when injured and boxed into a corner-

Then the dim blue eye flickered very briefly brighter, and a jangling shiver of sound emerged from the machine's lips; whatever language it was speaking, it certainly wasn't _English_, and he wasn't sure if that meant it understood him. Judging by the way it was shrinking back away from him, he guessed it didn't.

"Listen, I'm only here to help you," he said, peeling the handkerchief briefly away from his mouth and forcing a smile through the painful sand. "Help you. Understand me?"

It turned its gaze away from him and shrank further into its corner, shoulder up defensively. Looked… scared? Now, _that _couldn't be right! It was _big_, to start with; even though it was nowhere near as big as some that he'd seen on the news, it still massively outweighed _him_. For a scrawny metallic twig, it was still maybe eleven or twelve feet tall, from what he'd seen from his room, and could probably squash him with barely a flicker of effort even in _this_ state. Well, he revised, that was if it didn't spontaneously fall apart in front of him, because _damn_ was it ever bashed-up.

Then he noticed the tiny little red patch on its chest, high up and close to the central part that looked like frosted glass. Well, that was a little more reassuring, if rumour was right these were meant to be the good guys. "You're an Autobot, right?" he asked, and repeated, a little more slowly, just in case it was only the wind that was making him unintelligible; "Au-to-bot?"

It didn't respond, though, and the howling wind was getting painful.

"Listen, you stay here, ok?" He pointed at the ground, and daringly patted its leg, hoping to relay a little comfort. "_Stay here_. I'll see if I can get in contact with your friends."

"See, I told you it was a bad idea," a little voice commented from the foyer when Kendrick finally staggered back in through the door, but he ignored it.

The internet was dreadful, here, it came and went in fits and starts depending on how many people were trying to route calls through the prehistoric telephone exchange, but – thank the powers – his university work necessitated that he have a hard, physical connection, not wireless, so he still stood a damn good chance of getting it to work in this hideous weather. He settled himself in front of the computer, and opened up a search engine. There _had_ to be _some_ sort of contact details for the Autobots, somewhere…

0o0o0o0

In the security of a small, dirty work-van, another pair of eyes were watching the exchange, carefully.

"Yeah, Boss," Mitchell confirmed. "It's made contact with one of the humans. Still want us to finish it off?"

"No. You'll only draw attention to yourself," came Siphons' irritable drawl. "This saves me a job. Watch her, and make sure you take note of any other machines that come along to 'rescue' her, but don't reveal yourself – unless humans come along to take her away. I want the Autobots – and them _only – _to collect her."


	20. Chapter 19

**Warped - Chapter Nineteen**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** Thanks to all you lovely folk for your reviews. :) I think I'm back on track! ;) Again, just poke me if you see any typos...

Um OK, about this chapter... no-one go reporting me to the RSPCR please. :shifty eyes: What, you thought he was just going to sit back and let him wait comfortably for a rescue?

* * *

Kendrick sat in this apartment, and listened as the telephone rang. And rang. And rang. Hum. It seemed to be ringing for a very long time!… of course, it was probably night time over there – but then did that matter to robots? Did they sleep? He guessed they could be dreaming about electric sheep, or something-

"Hello? What?" The surly voice that finally answered made absolutely no attempt to be polite, and made him jump.

_Contact!_ Kendrick almost fell off his chair in relief. "He-hello? Are-… are you an Autobot?"

"No, I'm the Easter Rabbit." There was a pause and the barely-intelligible ripple of what sounded like a very brief argument – _you're an idiot/I know what they call it!_ – in the background. "Anyway, yeah, what do you want, human? We don't have time to do tours, sign autographs, talk to schoolkids or whatever other silly nonsense you think would be fun to arrange." There was a break in the words, and before he could gather his wits and catch his breath long enough to reassure that he was none of those things, the voice changed tactics. "Okay, look, Sides? If this is a prank? I'm gonna hang up now, 'kay?"

"Wait, wait! Please, don't hang-… don't hang up!" Kendrick grabbed at the telephone, as if physical contact would somehow keep them on the line. "Listen, there's one of your guys here. I think it-… he's hurt. And I don't know what-… I can't help him, he doesn't understand me, and I don't know what to do! Please, you might be able to help him."

There was such a long pause at the other end of the line that he wondered if they _had_ just hung up on him, and he was beginning to despairingly consider where _else_ he was going to be able to get help from when a new voice spoke; deeper, but softer, more mature. "Describe him," it suggested, gently.

"Uh, well… they're so smashed up it's hard to tell! But-… uhm. Tall, skinny. I think he was probably blue and white, once. Funny sort of… well, they're like shoulder-guards, I suppose. Dark face with little blue 'darts' on the cheeks. A-and I think he's pretty badly hurt, it was hard to tell in the sandstorm but he looks like he only has one arm and his feet are all broken up." He waited, and listened while voices murmured in the background. "Can you send help?" he chased, anxiously.

"Well, it doesn't sound like one of our allies," the voice mused, softly. "But we'll send someone. If they're hurt, they'll probably need specialist help."

0o0o0o0

Forceps had stood to one side, watching silently as the Autobots spoke with the human. Uneasy alarm bells had begun to sound in the back of her mind. The description was clearly of Pulsar, but that wasn't what was worrying her so much – rather, it was why the little gravity-bike had been released in the first place. It didn't make a whole lot of sense when taken in the context of Siphon's insanity, and she was concerned it was just another elaborate set-up.

Prowl had already noticed the warily concerned expression the green femme wore on her face; her lips were pursed and a subtle frown darkened her brow. "Well, surgeon?" he coaxed, quietly, once the human had finally hung up. "Is this making any relevant connections?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I'm fairly confident that's my friend," she confirmed, softly. "The one who went missing. Who has the, ah… injury."

Prowl gave her a look. "Am I not correct in thinking she was supposed to be some sort of bargaining chip?" he wondered. "That was what Ratchet implied, anyway."

Forceps nodded a silent confirmation.

"Which begs the question, why is she out _now_? What part of his, ah, 'master plan' could this possibly serve?"

"I'm not sure. It was what I was trying to work out." Forceps sighed. "Whatever the reason, if Siphon is involved we should be fairly confident that there's an ulterior motive to it. If the rumours are correct, he was almost as influential over events as Cali was – and almost as _smart –_ when Codustral was still a power to be reckoned with. So… he's playing a complicated game with us, here, and I doubt he'd let her go without, ah… leaving some sort of trap in her, somewhere."

"You mean like a bomb in her tanks, or something?" Sunstreaker piped up, from his seat at the computer. "Why would someone want to do that?"

"Probably two reasons; to punish her, _and _to get back at Skywarp, as those two were pivotal to finally catching him and Cali and stopping Codustral."

"How'd they manage _that_?" The yellow twin's face creased in disbelief.

"Essentially? Pulsar 'baited' Siphon out, then kept Cali busy while Warp took care of the tanker." She grimaced. "We _thought _that had been the end of it."

"This might be a silly question, but… isn't this kinda like _overkill_?" Sunstreaker challenged, giving Forceps a hard, suspicious look. "Sure, I can understand the guy wanting to get back at the big turkey, but he's going to huuge lengths to do it."

Forceps shook her head, careful not to rise to the bait. "Don't underestimate the size of the score Siphon believes he has to settle. To start with, Skywarp's means of dealing with him was a little, ah… unconventional-"

"What you _mean _is, he dropped him from a great height into the Deixar district rift," Prowl reminded.

Forceps winced. "Uh, yes. Which would have meant he was probably left very badly injured after the impact; it's a seismic fracture, so it's pretty jagged at the bottom. Secondly – and this would have compounded the problem significantly – he was addicted to Blue, so not only would he have been badly injured, he would also have been withdrawing very shortly after. And there was nobody around to help him – Fatigue was dead, and Deuce and Cali had both been arrested. So he would essentially have been trapped, in a Pit of his own making, going slowly out of his mind. It must have taken him hundreds of orns to drag himself out of there."

"Blue withdrawal is that bad?" Optimus wondered; he'd remained silent until now, looking torn between sympathy for the enemy's plight, and disgust at what he'd apparently done to a fellow Autobot.

Prowl nodded, grimly. "And not something a mech can just get over on his own, so he'd have had to go for treatment," he mused. "I wonder why no-one arrested him?"

"I'm sure Codustral had medics on their 'payroll'," Forceps observed, dryly. "And Siphon would have known who they were. He could have bribed a temporary refit off any of them until his cortex was back in good working order…"

Conversation dribbled away to nothing at the realisation that the two lost Seekers had apparently cottoned on to the fact that something was up; Skywarp was in the doorway, looking unnaturally hopeful, with Starscream close behind him, looking ambivalent over whether he was just here to try and keep Skywarp out of trouble, or servicing his own curiosity.

While Skywarp (and his reluctant chaperone) went to pester information out of Sunstreaker, Optimus headed in Skyfire's direction; the big shuttle was at the back of the room, quietly using a terminal to download satellite data, and trying (and failing) to look like he hadn't noticed anything was going on.

"Skyfire…? Would you be able to see if you can find her?" Optimus wondered, quietly, knowing his friend had probably listened in to everything that had been said. "I hate to impose on you yet again, but I don't want such a vulnerable machine stuck in that sort of hostile environment, especially if she might well be recaptured from it. If Siphon is even half as insane as Forceps suggests, I can't imagine he'll be particularly _gentle_ when he gets his hands back on her."

"You don't need to convince me _why _I need to go, Optimus," the behemoth reassured, gently. "I would be happy to help. Just give me the co-ordinates and I'll be on my way."

Optimus nodded, relieved. "I'll ask if Silverbolt and his team will go with you," he added. "The fact Megatron has lost three of his fighters doesn't mean he's now unarmed."

"Ah, yes-… that would be a good idea." Although Skyfire was certainly _armed_, he was also bulky, and the nimble Coneheads would fly rings around him easily.

Forceps caught his wrist as he passed. "Take care," she counselled. "If he's playing true to form and there _is_ Decepticon involvement…" She left the implications hanging.

The shuttle nodded. "Trust me, I will have all my senses on their very highest alert from the instant I get into Egyptian airspace," he reassured. "If anyone even thinks about trying to sneak up on me, I'll see them. The Aerialbots will be accompanying me, anyway."

"See you later, _Taxi_," came the scathing snipe, from somewhere behind.

It hurt, but Skyfire allowed it to roll off him. "I hope so, Starscream."

There was a miffed snort of half-disappointment at failing to needle him into a reaction, but nothing more.

0o0o0o0

Deep beneath the Amarna cliffs, new plans were being put into motion.

Slipstream was already missing from Thundercracker's cell – Siphon had waited until both the sparkling and his guardian were drowsy enough from the tainted fuel to be unable to come to a suitable defence before scooping the little mech up out of the sand and vanishing away down the corridors with him.

Instead of Slipstream, Thundercracker had the 'company' of Deuce (after a fashion). Siphon hadn't forgiven his reluctant lackey, yet – but then the truck didn't look _too _unhappy to be forced to share a cell with an ex-Decepticon. He'd actually seemed _almost_ relieved, under his hurt distress; Thundercracker had the strong suspicion it was because it meant he could just sit, didn't have to take responsibility for his actions, and didn't feel obliged to sneak about behind Siphon any more. Deuce had finally managed to coax himself into an uncomfortable dormancy, in the corner, although the sedative-laced energon had doubtless helped. He still had his arm hugged protectively across his chassis, and there was sand crystallised into the dried fluids on the ragged stump, but at least the shredded fluid lines had crimped off and he wasn't bleeding all over himself any more.

A shadow appeared in the long streamer of light spilling from the doorway, attracting Thundercracker's attention; Siphon, back again, and smiling broadly in a way that made him _deeply_ uneasy. "What do you want?" he wondered, gruffly, treating him to his best suspicious look as the tanker released the field and stepped through. His optics were drawn to the device in his captor's hands; the loose circles looked like the loops of elastomeric cuffs. "What are those for?"

"Hmm?" Siphon looked down at his hands, as if surprised to see what he was holding, then lifted the cuffs so Thundercracker could get a better view. "What do you _think_ they're for?"

"I think they're _unnecessary_," the Seeker challenged.

"Oh, no; I think they're _very _necessary. I mean, I thought it was only fair you got a little change of scenery, now you've been here so long. Somewhere to take stock of your situation. Evaluate your life choices, think about how you see yourself… _developing_ in our care. That sort of thing. And I need you to behave on the way," Siphon oiled, sweetly, petting his captive's shoulder vent with a tender affection that made the Seeker fight to restrain a shudder. "We don't want you causing trouble on the way. I'd hate to have to break you!"

"Ohh I doubt _you_ will break _me_," Thundercracker demurred, grimly.

"Ha! Well, we'll see." Siphon spread his hands, amusedly. "I suppose it'll depend on your definition of 'break', won't it?"

Thundercracker remained silent. Rising to the bait was exactly what Siphon wanted him to do.

"Anyway. Put your arms up," the tanker instructed, evenly, twirling the cuffs on one outstretched finger.

"I'd rather not," Thundercracker demurred, warily, eyeing the restraint and keeping his limbs deliberately down at his sides.

"Now you're just being unreasonable. I wish I didn't have to do this, but as you insist…" The tanker gave a melodramatic sigh and _ping_ed an instruction to the Seeker's bulky collar.

A familiar subprocessor-deep twinge rolled down his back, a dullish ache as if a hand had closed on his primary support complex, swiftly followed by a numbing series of noncorporeal _tweaks_ as the inhibition field blocked commands from going down from his cortex. He struggled to remain upright but actuator groups were shutting down in a rolling cascade all the way up his main motor column, and he could feel himself slowly _slumping_ backwards. _Stay in control_, he pleaded with himself, but to no avail. The ground came up to meet him with a low _thump_ that made his wings hurt.

The tanker perched on his chest, like some oversized gargoyle. "Now, friend." His features pulled up into a smirk. "Let's get you fitted up for your little outing."

0o0o0o0

Skyfire made excellent time to Egypt; he arrived just in time to make the most of the late-afternoon sunlight, leaving the Aerialbots to patrol the skies and keep their sensors tuned for unfriendlies. He didn't bother attempting to hide what he was – not only did he need to ask for directions, which he couldn't easily do as a shuttle, if rumours were to be believed there was already an injured Cybertronian in its root form here. So it seemed rather pointless.

A small clustering of humans had accumulated on the outskirts of town, and they watched out of wide, admiring eyes as he glided down and transformed.

"-_Beg pardon_-," he wondered, in a strangely-accented but understandable Egyptian Arabic, approaching one of the youngsters; his friends had all retreated a respectable distance, leaving him isolated at the edge of the sand. "-_Could you help me? I think one of my brethren is here, and injured?-_"

The human had looked startled at hearing his language coming fluently from the giant alien's mouth, but quickly recovered. "-_Yes, yes!_-" he confirmed. "_-I know. This way. It was found by the professor, he has stayed with it since the sandstorm blew itself out. Follow me, follow me!-_"

Skyfire followed behind with his usual unassuming manner, the slowly gathering crowds parting before him like ice before the prow of a ship. It _could_ be a trick, he reasoned, thinking back to what he'd overheard between Prowl and Forceps, and what the surgeon herself had cautioned him on, but it didn't seem likely that the enemy could have rallied _this_ many devoted humans to their cause in such a short period of time.

His target didn't prove to be very difficult to find; he could hear the crowd of humans from some distance away. The femme in question was up on her feet, apparently trying to walk, although where she thought she was trying to _go _eluded Skyfire. She was sorely unsteady, and had accumulated a chattering mass of humans around her legs, apparently trying to help her stay upright. The smaller organisms were all chattering urgently and apparently trying to relay comfort, attempting to calm the stricken creature down, but the jangling voices were all speaking a mixture of Earthly languages (mostly Arabic and bad English), and the stuttering responses from the femme's vocaliser sounded like they were exclusively broken, frightened Cybertronian, so whether either understood anything at all of each others' vocalisations was anyone's guess.

Although they were presumably attempting to help, the little figures were being far from comforting – they were swarming around her like attacking insects, and if his guess was right her vision was so poor they'd be little more than a milling blur of bright shapes. As he watched, she managed a couple of staggering footsteps forwards, knocking two of her would-be helpers aside; they re-gathered urgently around her again, trying to stop her falling, but the gesture went mis-interpreted and she cowered away from them, using her one arm to try and shove them away.

_Better move now_, Skyfire thought to himself. _Before she hurts someone – or herself._

"Hello there," he greeted, in a gently accented Cybertronian, moving slowly, carefully into her field of view. "Can I help you?"

Her head jerked up at the voice, and her pale gaze met with his-…

She lurched back away from him, as if stung, and fell back against the wall, undoing the minimal progress she'd made under her own power. She garbled out such a twisted, rasping mess of staticky Cybertronian that it took him a second or two to work out she was saying _please don't hurt me_. Fear broadcast involuntarily out of her in great heavy waves

"I'm not going to hurt you," he reassured, advancing slowly, being sure to carry himself in such a way that it minimised his imposing bulk. "I'm a friend. I want to help you. Get you to safety. Do you understand me?"

She huddled down up in her corner, turning her face away and trying to curl her arm up over her head, continuing to plead miserably. She didn't seem to be processing his words, if she could even hear them with her auditory venting so full of sand.

Skyfire crouched alongside her, and briefly studied the injuries marring the pale body; necessity meant he _did _have a fair knowledge of field repairs, but this was beyond him. At least the wounds didn't look particularly _life-threatening,_ he reassured himself, regardless how ugly they looked. She wasn't leaking fluids, and wasn't sparking with electrical discharge; he figured a lot of the superficial injuries must be little more than cosmetic damage.

Regardless of severity, wherever it was she'd been, it hadn't been a nice experience. She was almost blind, to start with, one optic shattered in a spiderweb of cracks and completely greyed out and the other so dim and dull it could hardly be seeing much more than indistinct blurs. One arm was missing altogether, and she clutched her good arm to her chest – although the definition of '_good_' seemed pretty tenuous, the fractures in the structure were visible even at this distance. For that matter, her dermal plating was cracked in a variety of places, and some of them looked like they would have been very hard to have been caused accidentally. Some looked like they had been carefully and deliberately inflicted, by a skilled and unkind hand... and was that _graffiti_, scrawled among the smeary paint-transfers in thick, hateful black ink across her broken chest?

The earlier sandstorm had compounded it. Her plating had been wind-scoured to murky ginger-browns and greys, and she probably had sand packed into every angle, every vent, every joint space. Her movement – and she was still attempting to move _away_ – was sluggish, and heavy.

"Please. I only want to help you," he repeated, softly. "I need to get you to safety, so we can repair you. You can't stay here. Whoever did this to you? Might come back."

She shot a glance at him, sidelong, as if not daring to actually lift her blurry optics to look directly at him. _Stay away. Stay away. Please stay away. _

"All right," he soothed, deciding to take matters into his own giant hands. "I know you probably can't hear me well enough to understand, right now, but I only have your best interest in mind. You can't stay here, you'll probably run yourself grey. I'm going to get you back to safety, and find someone who can help get you fixed up. All right?"

Her gaze flickered brighter at seeing him approach, and she shrank back into the wall, a flood of _stay away don't hurt me please don't come near me don't hurt me_ bubbling up from the shattered throat.

"I won't hurt you," he promised, gently. "But if we don't get you out of here, we might attract the attention of other machines that _will_ intend you harm."

Boldly, he scooped her up out of the sand; it was unsettling to notice just how fragile she felt – like a glass doll in his arms. Apparent fragility didn't stop her reacting, though! She struggled violently for a moment or two, leaving vibrant yellow streaks across his face from her fingertips, before freezing up altogether; he resisted the urge to recoil in surprise. She was only scared, he consoled himself. He could sense the broken blue gaze was fixated on him, regardless of how well it could actually _see_, and she was trembling hard enough to make her whole body vibrate, but at least she'd calmed down. Or maybe that should read "given up"? He hummed a long, soothing harmonic to her, like one would a frightened sparkling, not sure what else to do, and thankfully she _did _seem to understand that. The frequency of her vibrations began very subtly to decrease.

"You found her, then?"

Skyfire turned to watch Silverbolt alight nearby, nimbly. "Yes," he confirmed, quietly, trying not to startle her again. "Just in time, it looks like. Would you help her aboard? I don't think she'll do it under her own power."

Silverbolt nodded, concernedly, carefully taking the femme from Skyfire's large arms; more faint pleading issued from her vocaliser, but she seemed too depleted to put up much more of a fight.

Skyfire was a lot less threatening to her as a shuttle than a mech; once Silverbolt had steered her in the right direction, she actually got aboard partially under her own steam, hiding away in the giant's cargo hold. In the meantime Silverbolt had found her a foil blanket; he offered it to her and she curled herself tightly into it, turning herself into a silver cocoon.

"All right, she looks secure. Let's head home. I don't want to dally here any longer than I have to," Silverbolt counselled, already taking off.

Skyfire directed his attention inward for a second and confirmed the Aerialbot's assessment, then joined him in the air.

The _Ark_ responded very quickly to his communication, for a change. "Everything gone to plan?" Prowl suggested, hopefully.

"Yes, we have her," Skyfire confirmed, softly. "…what's left of her."

"…Is she still alive?"

"Yes, but it looks like only just. Tell Ratchet he might want to get the medical suite ready for us. We'll be back in a cycle or two."

0o0o0o0

When everything was considered, things were not looking good, Thundercracker mused, grimly, trying not to maintain his balance as Siphon prodded him down the corridor. The tanker had devoted strangely little time to gloating, once the Seeker's wrists were securely cuffed in front of him, and – judging by how things had gone thus far – that seemed to be a bad sign.

The rough stone-walled corridors looked different from the last time Thundercracker had been encouraged down them; now they had begun to turn a familiar dullish purple as they accumulated new, clean, supportive alloy plating. Any doubts a machine might have had about Siphon's new allegiance were swiftly dashed in the increasingly Decepticon look to the place.

…plus, of course, the fact that there were familiar faces where they _shouldn't_ have been; the Coneheads lurked menacingly next to a small energon dispenser in a wider portion of the corridor, and Soundwave just observed, inscrutable as ever, from behind a computer terminal. This was supposed to be the stronghold of just one small resentful blob of tin with a _very _large chip on his shoulder – not an outlying base for the whole Decepticon campaign! It was not a pleasant reminder that only a short while ago, he'd fought alongside these mechs, and relied on them to watch his back while he watched theirs. Now they were just as keen to see him flattened as they would be any Autobot.

Thundercracker cycled a quick steadying pulse of cold air across stressed, hot internals, and kept his chin up and his shoulders squared, determined to _look_ his confident old self even if there was a mass of niggly little doubts lurking at the back of his processors, insidiously growing like a slow emotional tumour. He matched stares with Ramjet for a moment or two, but the pale jet must have seen _something_ he found suspicious in his manner because the sneer turned into an amused, unkind smirk.

It was frustrating and somewhat disquieting to have to walk past his former comrades-in-arms and _know _he was suddenly the enemy. He'd never felt quite _so_ much like _prey,_ either. Living on borrowed time. The Coneheads had clustered together next to the narrow doorway, and were _just_ enough in the way that he had to push to get past them, He caught the sneering mutters about _weakling Autobot sympathiser, finally showing his true colours_ the instant he'd passed. Thundercracker squared his jaw and pretended to have not heard, following Siphon down the corridor. There was a pool of light up the end of the corridor – another room, this time lined with a brighter, less threatening pewter-silver metal. Must be where they were headed-

Siphon stopped before he got to the end room, halting abruptly enough that Thundercracker almost ploughed square into him. "Here we are! You might as well get comfortable," he counselled, smiling, and gestured to the narrow door he'd stopped level with while the Seeker regained his balance. "You're going to be in here a bit of a while."

Thundercracker peered in, and backed off an involuntary step or two.

The cell was smaller even than his previous accommodation – only a little larger than he'd need to be able to turn around in, and lined with more of that familiar, unpleasant purple alloy. He shuddered very subtly, the tremor making his truncated wing ache, and felt an unfamiliar tingle of something like stifling claustrophobia caress at his insides. In spite of the fact that he was the most devoted, obligate flier of the three of them, he'd never been _quite _so claustrophobic as his wingmates – not so much as Screamer and certainly nowhere near as bad as Skywarp. Perhaps it was his viewpoint – calmer, less prone to jump to conclusions, and he'd always been better able to make the distinction between _reality_ and the sort of nightmarish fantasies Skywarp always dreamed up.

_This_ little cell was just enough to unnerve even him – the walls had been screened with a poor quality thin metal, buckled in places and with bare wires and rock visible behind a light-fixture. A floor-to-ceiling window looked out on a largish control room; it took up the full central third of one of the longest sides of the cell and was the only part of the place that looked vaguely clean and fair quality, but that only seemed to emphasise how gloomy the rest of it was. It didn't take an imagination like Skywarp's to imagine the tonnes and tonnes of rock above his head straining to break through and flatten him-

He stepped boldly through the door, stamping down the little inner voice that jeered at him. _Don't give that crackpot pipeline the pleasure of seeing you off-balance_. It was just a room. That was all. A hastily-constructed, dimly-lit little room, but it was doubtless structurally sound, especially if the Constructicons had been involved. Besides, crushing him flat under countless tonnes of unpleasant gingery rock wouldn't help the tanker's anti-Skywarp campaign.

"You know, I'm _so terribly _sorry," the smaller mech soothed, tenderly, following the captive jet into the cell. "Really, I am. I wish you didn't have to be here. I wish I could tell you they still wanted you! But…" He ran his fingers gently down the back of Thundercracker's helm, and snickered softly as the Seeker jerked himself away. "Fact is, they're not looking for you, any more. They've got just about everything they want. They don't need you back."

"They won't abandon me here. Not with you," Thundercracker asserted, bringing himself to his full height and glaring down on the tanker, sounding a lot more sure than he actually felt. "And they certainly won't abandon Seem."

"Oh, now _that _is a different matter altogether; we've already made the appropriate exchange arrangements regarding _him_." The tanker stared him out, boldly, unimpressed by his _looming_, and flicked just enough of an instruction to Thundercracker's collar to drop him to his knees on the floor. "All we have to do is make the exchange, and he's free. You, on the other hand…" Siphon chuckled. "Well, I thought I set a very reasonable price, but they weren't interested. I guess you're not worth the exchange."

Thundercracker gave him a long-suffering look, and rearranged himself a little more comfortably. "Exactly _what_ sort of idiot do you take me for?"

Siphon wrinkled his lip in an unkind sneer. "Well, what could they possibly want such a vacillant, self-doubting waste of good spares like _you_ back for?"

Thundercracker straightened, insulted, brow furrowing in a glare. "Say what you like, _Tubes_. I already know that half the words that spew from your vocaliser are lies, and the other half are twisted half truths to service your own agenda. And I _know_ you're trying the same psychology on me that you used to mess Pulsar's mind up, and I can tell you for free that you're _not _going to get a result."

Siphon clucked amusedly. "Maybe, maybe," he conceded. "Fact is, they've _told us_ they don't want you back. I can let you hear the communiqué, if you like! And I can understand their reasoning – I mean, look at you. All you are is _weak_. A weak willed, weak spirited, angst-ridden mech with zero self-worth." He waved a dismissive hand. "All you do with all your doubting, your _pessimistic doomsaying_, is drag them down, destroy their spirit, and make them fail, over and over and over again. It's not Starscream's over-reaching, or Skywarp's stupidity. It's all _your fault_, for dithering so long that you lose any advantage you had." He leaned closer and gave him a prod in the chassis. "Face it, Decepticon. Losing you was the _best thing_ that could have happened to them."

Thundercracker brought his hands up and shoved him away, hard, glaring. "Don't act like you _know us_, pipeline," he snapped, vaguely satisfied at seeing the black streak his fists had left up the olive chassis. "Whatever Megatron has been telling you, it's all as much a load of slag as what you've been telling _me_."

"All right, let's think about it. You're the only one still in danger, and you dropped the little one in it as well. What does _that _say about you?" Siphon challenged, nursing the new injury carefully with his fingertips, circling again. "Skywarp survived off _petroleum_ before realising he had to ask for clemency, and not only swallowed his pride but accepted asylum off the _Autobots_. Even _Starscream_ is back on his feet again. Pit, he lost his entire engine core on one side and could barely _stand _let alone _walk_, but still got up, made his way to transport, and made contact with Skywarp – _and_ kept the kid safe. Not bad for someone who spent several _days _in stasis lock."

Thundercracker kept his vocaliser offlined; he knew what the tanker was implying. The idiot who can usually barely find his aft with both hands managed to save himself with very little effort. Even the one renowned for being the whiny, ineffectual backstabber managed to save himself, _and_ the precious infant. All _you_ did was lumber around in the desert and get yourself and Seem captured. You put yourself right back in the hands of the people you _least_ wanted to see, and you're not even that badly injured!

"They've got the femme back as well, now, you know." Siphon added, leaning so closely to the jet's audios that he almost brushed his lips against him; Thundercracker involuntarily pulled away. "Come on, now. Seriously. Even if they forgive your ineptitude, how could they _ever _forgive everything you did to her?"

"For what you _made me_ do to her."

"So defensive!" Siphon chuckled, sweetly. "What distinction do you think _she_ is going to make, when she recounts all the details of how you brutalised her?" he wondered. "All they're going to hear is what _you_ did to her." He leaned down closer again, hands on his prisoner's shoulder's, and felt him trembling with anger. "And how you _liked_ it."

Thundercracker gave an inarticulate cry of anger and threw his head backwards, felt the satisfying _crunch_ of plating as the unyielding back of his helm impacted the tanker's softer features, crushed the delicate structure of his nares. While Siphon staggered and exclaimed about his pain, Thundercracker twisted about and lunged for him-

Siphon sidestepped him, casually, pinging a command at the collar; it pulsed stasis commands instantly down his motor trunk and left him unable even to pull himself up out of an impressive, uncontrolled nosedive. He hit the sand with a painful _crunch,_ flat on his face, earning nothing but an intake full of sand for his trouble.

Siphon smirked around the sparks that fizzed up from his damaged nose. "Dear me, whatever is the matter?" he cooed, leaning down closer to the groaning Seeker. "Have I touched a sore spot, _Decepticon_? There was me thinking wanton death, despair and destruction was what you all did best, and here you are, wibbling over a _femme_. My my. You almost make me _ashamed_ to share a faction with you."

Already scolding himself for rising to the bait the_ last_ time, Thundercracker didn't respond, simply concentrated on sitting up the second he felt the stasis field cut out with an irritating tingle. He sat slowly back to his heels, thrumming his vents to 'cough' them clear of sand, and treated Siphon to his blackest glare.

"Wouldn't you like to _know,_" Siphon wondered, in a tone that bordered strongly on seductive, "exactly _what _it was you did to her?"

"I'm quite happy remaining ignorant," Thundercracker argued, quietly, defensively hunching his shoulders. "You don't need to make any special dispensation for me."

"Ohh, it's not a bother." Siphon shook his head, deliberately feigning ignorance. "The viral that's keeping your memories blocked? It's easily reversed. A quick addition of the appropriate nanites and you can see every last juicy detail you've missed."

"Perhaps you misunderstand; I'm not interested, whether they're 'juicy details' or not."

"Perhaps _you_ misunderstand; I'm not actually _asking_ what you want."

Thundercracker watched – and _tensed_, knowing what was being implied – as the tanker studied his long fingers, and flexed them meaningfully.

"You're a monster, deep down inside, Mister Thundercracker. You might tout all those noble ideals, and pretend you're so much better than your peers, espousing all those self-righteous doubts about injuring innocent bystanders, but underneath it all you're just as depraved as _any _of Megatron's loyalists."

Thundercracker's optics narrowed to furious crimson slits, and he glared up at his warder from beneath hooded brows; the angry bull, just looking for an excuse. Siphon chuckled at the sight; his laugh was thin, sibilant, deliberately unpleasant.

"Your conscious mind might reject it, but your subconscious already knows where it belongs," the small olive mech explained, softly, advancing. "All I did was give it the opportunity to show its true colours. It certainly explains why you always crawled back to Megatron. Wasn't because you were _scared_ of him. Wasn't because of _loyalty _to your undeserving brothers. Wasn't because of – hah! – _friendship_. It was because Megatron – and him alone – could give you the resources and the opportunity you needed to indulge your sadism. To feed the monstrosity that lurks in your spark."

"You have no idea what you're blethering on about," Thundercracker snapped, leaning away from him.

"On the contrary, I've seen the very worst of it! The side of you that you blank out, ignore, pretend doesn't exist, because it sickens you to think of." Siphon halted a bare handbreadth from his prisoner, and grinned, broadly, bending forward at the waist so their faces were almost touching. His amber optics blazed their insanity hot enough to throw stark orange highlights across Thundercracker's sloppy new black enamel. "And because I'm kind like that, I'm going to introduce you to him."

Although he'd tensed in anticipation of an attack, Siphon still managed to catch Thundercracker unprepared – he lunged at the larger mech like an eel, and rammed his funnel clean down his primary intake. The Seeker gave a muffled cry of alarm and felt them both toppling backwards; the _thump_ of impact was bad enough across his wings, but the pain that followed was as bright as a magnesium flare through his cortex, as the sharp margin to the tanker's nozzle scoured an entire layer of analytical plating off the back of his intake and noxious, tainted fuel shorted something out. He gave a furious cry of pain and clenched his jaw, _hard_; Siphon's counter-wail as plating buckled and twisted under the force of the bite was a disharmonious music to the jet's audios. While his tormentor lurched away and clutched at his injured hand, Thundercracker kicked out, strongly, and caught the tanker a hefty enough blow across the midsection that he heard the sharp _bang _of something shearing off inside. He threw himself upright, determined to finally kill the slagger for once and for all, collar be damned...

The familiar _clutching_ sensation of enforced partial stasis caught him just as he passed his centre of gravity, and sent him crashing back into the sand once again. For the second time in less than a breem, Thundercracker was left groaning around a mouthful of grit.

Siphon managed to smile through his pain, although his leer of sadistic amusement was rather more _twisted_ than usual. "Very good, oh very good," he hissed, brokenly, hugging his arm to himself, and delivering a kick to the defenceless mech's damaged wing. "You're already proving my point, but maybe…" He let his voice descend to a rumble barely louder than the throaty purr of his fans. "_Maybe_ I'll let you and your subconscious have a little chat. Come to some, ah… _understanding…_ between yourselves. You'll be so much happier for it."

Thundercracker muttered painfully and managed to work his knees up underneath himself, slowly pushing himself upright; his shoulder pylons had drawn another trench in the dirt by the time he was sitting back on his heels, and Siphon was already moving away, content his prisoner was suitably chastised.

The tanker hesitated in the doorway, bowing very slightly and gesturing an arm in an exaggerated _after you_ gesture… and in the pause, a tall silver figure strode past, a smaller, darker-coloured figure moving obediently beside him, forced to trot to keep up.

_Primus, no…!_ "Seem-!" Thundercracker struggled to force the word out, but the fuel vapours had left his vocaliser destabilised and he couldn't manage much more than a harsh, quiet _croak_ of pain.

A door sliced closed hard enough to make him _flinch_, startled.

"No… no-…!" He'd not anticipated there'd be a door – a security field, maybe, but not something as old-fashioned as an actual door. He tottered to his feet and used his manacled hands to try and find a seam, a lock, a manual release-… anything. A full breem of searching didn't uncover a way out, and by the time he turned away the mouthful of nanite-laden fuel had started to have an effect, the microscopic robots dumping their program fragments into his mainframe.

He settled himself next to the window, uneasily; the control room outside was deserted, but it was well lit, which was a small comfort. The silver reminded him of other places he'd been recently, though. Places with flickers and flashed of blue and white and yellow. Places that-… wait. What was that…?

_No, no, I don't want to look at that-_

0o0o0o0

Down in the medical suite, Forceps was trying to think up a good way to get rid of Skywarp. Skyfire had notified them he was close, and she really didn't want to have to fend off worried friends while she did her preliminary investigations.

"Jazz…?" She caught the saboteur's arm as he appeared in the doorway. "Could I ask a favour?"

"Ask away!" Jazz smiled, reassuringly.

"If your friend Skyfire is bringing in who I think he might be bringing in, it'd be enormously useful if you could take Big Seeker and Little Seeker away for a while," she murmured, cryptically. "I'll need some space to work, without distressed sparklings – of either size – getting under my feet."

Jazz nodded, silently; he understood the implications. "Hey, Button, let's go for a walk, it's getting kinda stuffy in here!" he scooped Footloose up off the sideboard and set off towards the exit with her, hoping Skywarp would take the invitation and follow.

Thankfully, Skywarp was absolutely a hundred percent true to form, and gave chase. "Hey… hey! Come back here, Auto-dork! That's _my_ little one, you come back here now, or I'll kick your fragging _dental plates_ in!"

"Gotta catch me first!" Jazz's retort floated cheekily down the corridor, accompanied by Lucy's squeaks of amusement.

"Oh I _see…_ it's like _that,_ is it?" Skywarp's voice dropped to a knowing growl, and there was the _slap_ of displaced air as he teleported away somewhere in an attempt to head Jazz off.

Forceps waited silently for a few moments, until the voices had faded right away and she was content they weren't about to suddenly reappear. _-all right, all clear-_ she commed to Skyfire, and got a wordless confirmatory ping in response. A breem or two later and the shuttle emerged from the wide main corridor, followed by anxious chattering, a tiny silver bundle in his arms…

Pulsar was already most of the way offline; stressed, overheating, barely conscious. Forceps peeled her out of her blanket, and winced, feeling as though a noncorporeal hand was closing down around her vents, stiflingly; she brushed her fingers over her small friend's antennae, and hummed a soft, deep harmonic to distract her while she looked for an appropriate hookup to push her right the way offline.

The second Pulsar was securely in stasis lock, Forceps went in with an endoscope; Ratchet was getting the gamma camera calibrated, but she wanted to get a good look at the standard visual spectrum first of all. Just to check for booby-traps. Bombs in tanks, and all that…

The little bike was almost as much of a mess _inside_ as she was _out_; her primary intake was heavily scratched, with sporadic dingy scuffs of olive green, and her pumps were covered in a heavy, tarry grey-brown residue, perhaps from a very poor-grade, low-purity fuel. It actually reminded Forceps of how Skywarp had looked, when they'd started to get his systems clean, after all that subsisting off petroleum products…

Thankfully, she seemed bomb-less. Although… there was… _some_thing… what _was _that? Forceps twiddled the focusing dial a little, peered closer-

Something very flat was tucked down in one of the junctions between Pulsar's interior plates; she grasped it gently in the very tip of the tweezers, and extricated it very, very slowly, careful not to drop it.

"Hm," she mused, out loud. "What's this?"

Ratchet took the unspoken invitation and came closer, peering over the broad green shoulders. "That looks like a comms wafer," he observed, reaching forwards for it and carefully taking it from her. "I'll get it to Prowl, see if he can get anything off it. Where did you find it?"

"Inside," Forceps replied, carefully neglecting to explain how it had been tucked down close to the small femme's spark casing. "I wonder what it means? It's too broken up to be functional."

"Maybe there's a message coded onto it," Ratchet suggested, carefully pocketing it. "Whatever it mean, I'm sure Prowl will work it out." The camera pinged quietly in the distance, to illustrate it was ready, and he went to fetch it. "You know, she's smaller than I'd anticipated from Jazz's photograph."

Forceps vented stale air in a quiet sigh, and watched as the gamma camera began its scan. "She's smaller than I remember, too," she said, softly. "I think it's psychological. I've not seen her _quite_ so smashed up, before."

She dithered for a long while over whether she should or should not let her patient wake up just yet, but eventually reasoned that they needed to know what was going on, and getting a little energon back inside her would probably help. Besides, they were in a side-room, so they were away from the worst of the foot traffic, and with luck no-one would march in unannounced.

It was obvious when Pulsar began to come round; her shakes immediately resumed, and so hard that her substructure was _buzzing_.

"Hey, Squeaky," Forceps greeted, softly, using the bizarre affectionate nickname the Policebot had got stuck with since meeting up with Skywarp, and gently cupped a palm over one of her blinkers. "It's Sepp. You're safe. You can calm down now, all right?"

Pulsar gave a little start, and visibly crumpled. "Sepp…? Oh Primus alive, I never thought-…" Her vocaliser fizzed with relieved static, and she shook with relief, clutching her fingers over her friend's hand. "I thought I was going to die."

"We were worried abut you too," the big femme soothed. "But you're safe now, all right? We'll get you fixed up-"

"We have to go back," Pulsar interrupted. "Seem and-… We have to get them out. We have to get them out, he'll kill them-!"

"Kill who?"

"Seem, and TC and Deuce," she croaked. "They all clubbed together… got me out."

Well, that explained _some_ things. There was no ulterior motive to things because it hadn't been Siphon that let her go. But that also increased Forceps' concerns for the other prisoners – what if Siphon took it out on _them_? At least it was a good sign that Deuce was _helping_; all that hard work he'd put in to getting his life back on track hadn't gone completely to waste.

All the worrying in the world wouldn't help if they didn't know where they _were_, though. "We found a comms disc inside you, Pulse. Do you know what it means?" Forceps coaxed, gently.

"A… friend… gave us the wafer," Pulsar explained, hesitantly, in a voice so low it was almost inaudible. "We couldn't boost the signal enough to get word out and couldn't hack into the base's primary relay. So… I took it with me. Had to hide-," she faltered, but gathered herself enough to finish the sentence. "Had to hide it, just in case-… in case anyone found me."

"Hide it? I found it pretty deep inside you, Spark. How did it get in there?" Forceps wondered, softly. "You couldn't have reached to get it so tightly wedged between your plating by yourself."

The smaller femme's dim gaze slid away to one side. "Thundercracker," she replied, softly.

"What about him? He put it there? Or… something else?"

The next silence was even longer. "Put-… put it there." The broken blue gaze met and held the concerned golden one for a moment or two. "Siphon's been using him to hurt me," the small femme whispered. "Drugging him… coercing him to do things."

Forceps offlined her vocaliser before the outraged question could escape – _things that leave paint transfers all over your chassis? _– and had to take a long draught of cold air to steady herself. Sunstreaker was right – this _was_ overkill. Completely unnecessary-

"It's not his fault," Pulsar pleaded, in the silence. "He didn't even know where he was. Siphon made him do it, made him think he was somewhere else, some_thing_ else-"

"Shh-shh," Forceps interrupted, softly. "Don't think about it now. Get some rest. I'll fetch you some fresh energon, and we can think about how we're going to get you cleaned up. All right?"

"Don't knock me out," the cycle implored, pathetically. "Don't knock me out."

"All right, all right. Calm down. I'm not going to knock you out. I'm just going to get you some fresh, clean, pure energon. All right?"

She was only gone for a fraction of a breem, but she later wished she'd asked Ratchet to do it for her. There was the unexpected _slap_ of displaced air, and Skywarp was through the door before Forceps could grab him. _Oh Primus-_! She dropped the flask and made an ungainly sprint for the door-

"Hey, Pulse, how you feeling-…?" Skywarp greeted, amiably; he wanted to say more, but didn't get the chance to get any further.

Without Siphon's chemicals keeping her brain damped-down and insensible, there was no barrier to Pulsar's fear flaring right the way up into a firestorm. She gave an unashamed wail of fright, emitting a horrible strangling whine from her melted siren, and threw herself off the back edge of the berth, scattering thermal regulators and inadvertently yanking herself unplugged from most of the monitors; a whole series of alerts began to whoop in tandem.

"What the-… Pulse? It's only me," Skywarp went on, startled, resisting the urge to chase after her – but only just. He wanted to give her a shake, demand to know what was _wrong_ with her, didn't she know who he was, that he wasn't going to do anything to her…?!

"…go away," came the broken demand, barely discernible through the pouring static.

"But I-"

"_Go away_!" she shrieked, loud enough to disturb his audio sensors and leave them buzzing.

He backed up, hastily, bumping against Forceps as she barged through, half-angry half-worried. "But it's only me-! Pulse, it's me-" he pleaded, knocked flying by the big femme.

"Shh-shh-shh," Forceps soothed, humming that calming harmonic and cradling her to her chest. Over the top of the broken femme's head, she shot Skywarp a glare and flapped a hand in a shooing gesture at him; _Get out!_ "It's okay, we're here, you're safe-"

Skywarp needed no second bidding, he was already backing hastily up towards the doorway, his optics like great startled crimson pools in his face.

"Don't let him hurt me, don't let him hurt me-!" he heard Pulsar's frantic begging.

He lost his nerve, and fled.


	21. Chapter 20

**Warped - Chapter Twenty**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** Thanks again for all your kind reviews. :)

This is a bit of a long chapter, but kinda blah. :hrm: Oh well!

* * *

In the direct aftermath of Pulsar's inadvertent sonic assault on his audios, Skywarp spent a good few breems just _wandering_, in a haze of startled alarm, trying to work out what in _Primus'_ _sweet name _was going on.

Looking back, he recognised easily how _naïve _he'd been, thinking he could just amble in and say hi (and maybe sneak a hug and promise vengeance when no-one was watching). He'd _known_ they'd have done more than just bump her around a bit, especially after receiving Siphon's morbid 'gift' an orn or two before, so he really should have expected she wouldn't have been all sunshine and sparkles at seeing him.

But to have her scream in unashamed terror like that, just at the very first _glimpse _of him? Primus, had _that _ever been like a kick to somewhere sensitive! By the time he recovered his senses, he'd found himself right the way outside, staggering confused in the dirt, trying to straighten the whirl of conflicting, spiking processors back out. Her words – _don't let him hurt me – _had been like a physical pain between his audios.

_Well if he wanted my attention, he's got it,_ he vowed, dragging his thrusters over the dust and nursing the hurt that was baying for the screws holding a certain machine's spark-casing closed. _Fragging-… how fragging _dare_ he. This is my territory he's leaving his slagging heel-prints all over and I'm gonna rip his power converter out for it. Through his __vents__. _

Once he'd got over the immediacy of the unfamiliar shock of having _his_ "squeaky little Policebot" screaming loud enough to shake sparks out of the Matrix at the sight of him – and once he'd recalibrated his ringing audios – Skywarp had (morosely) gone to join Starscream in the medical lab. And not out of any particular desire to boredly needle him into a blazing temper, for a change, it was just because he didn't know what else to do, and… well, sort-of kinda… wanted his wingmate close. Just to make sure he didn't spontaneously combust, or anything.

And as an added bonus, the lab Starscream had 'adopted' (or rather, _misappropriated_) to work in was kinda nearby, too. So he would be close at hand just in case Sepp should say "…actually, Warp, let's just try that once more before we write it off as a bad job." Not that _that_ looked likely, either, every time he peeked hopefully through the doorway she'd give him a sad look and shake her head, and he'd retreat back, disappointed.

To the untrained eye, Skywarp looked bored, sitting there on the sideboard next to where Starscream was valiantly struggling to ignore him and keep working. He was drumming the backs of his thrusters against the cupboard built in underneath, and had already streaked the orange alloy with a furore of purple lines before Starscream irritably told him to cut it out. Now he'd been foiled on _that_ account, he very quickly turned to fiddling with Starscream's supplies, helping himself to a focussing crystal and trying (and failing) to get the sullen overhead lighting to focus down into a spot bright enough to set fire to a shred of paper in his finger.

For once, Starscream was _almost_ forgiving of his wingmate's aftery, and didn't instantly snatch the thieved component back. Better versed in Skywarp's little foibles and well able to recognise what was going on, the teleport was clearly making a royal pain in the aft of himself to avoid having to admit that yeah, he _was_ kinda worried, actually. Sorta _hurt_ and _angry_ and _upset_, too.

After several breems of unbelievable silence, Skywarp finally spoke up. "'S'weird, you know, Screamer?" he said, with a strange _offhand_ tone, carefully managing to balance the crystal on its smallest side on top of a precarious heap of databoards. "She's scared of me. She let me take her _waaaay_ up into the air, before, but now she's scared of me. How fragging stupid is that?"

He pointed it out in such an inconsequential, _oh-by-the-way_ tone of voice that his wingmate actually glanced up at him, puzzled; seeing the over-exaggerated who-gives-a-slag expression on the teleport's face left no doubt in Starscream's mind that it _was_ preying on his thoughts.

"That's never bothered you before," the fallen Air Commander observed, returning his attention to his work. "You always used to _like_ the idea you could cause shock and awe by name alone."

"It's never _mattered_ before," Skywarp corrected, grimly, and admitted; "I kinda liked having someone that wasn't scared of me that wasn't one of you guys." Beat. "Fighting with you two is getting kinda predictable."

"The fact it was a femme was just an added bonus, of course? You could, eh, 'fight' without raising aaany suspicion at all. Or at least that was your theory."

Skywarp pouted, hurt. "It was nice, having someone who didn't run screaming at the very sight of me," he complained, softly.

"No, Warp, you're confusing your being a Decepticon with you just being an ugly little Pit-spawn," Starscream joked, and thankfully Skywarp took it in the humour it was intended.

"Takes one to know one, Beautiful," the teleport countered, thumbing his nose at him. "Well I'm gonna go try talk to her again. Frag it, Screamer, I want to know what they _did_ to her! And then blamed on _me_! I swear, when I find out? I'm gonna go and frickin'… _mince_ someone for it!" He shoved himself down off the shelf and thumped his feet _hard_ against the floor-

Starscream caught his arm before he could vanish, and gave him a very long, serious stare. "Before you go and try _shaking _an answer out of her, just think what she's been through," he counselled, unnaturally gently, although his concern was more for his wingmate's state of mind. "You'll probably only make things worse, and Primus! If you're bad _now_? You're going to be totally unbearable if you manage to work the pair of you even deeper into stress because you've gone in too heavy-handedly and made her _genuinely_ scared of you."

Skywarp looked deflated; he'd already stopped struggling to free himself, and now his shoulders were sagging, wings drooping lower on his back.

"Right now, it's like she's just been dragged out of the smelting pools by her antennae alone," Starscream went on. "She's probably very stressed, and everything that's happened – whatever the Pit that might turn out to be – will be fresh and _very_ clear in her mind. Demanding that she tells you every minute detail, and making her relive every painful second, _won't _help her recover."

Skywarp managed a halfway sneering expression to hide his dismay. "Been sucking up to your favourite Neutral again, Doctor Screamer?"

Starscream gave him a swat around the audios, but it wasn't as hard a blow as normal. More for effect. "Nice to see none of what I say is retained in your processors, as usual," he scolded. "Just… I know it's not in your normal programming, but try make an effort, all right? At least give her a few more cycles to calm down, and if you're going to bully Sepp to let you see her, _go gently_ if she agrees."

0o0o0o0o0

It had taken Forceps several breems of continual reassurance to get Pulsar to calm down and detach from where she was clutching against her, but at last the broken Policebot was back on her berth, surrounded by monitors and plugged into a supportive recharging mainframe… and Forceps was exhausted. She'd already been running herself ragged trying to get the two Seekers back up to combat readiness and now to have to look after the mutilated remains of one of her friends-… She wasn't getting a whole lot of time to snatch the occasional flask of energon, let alone perform mental housekeeping, and her buffers were all full of needless sensory data she just hadn't had time to sort through and erase.

"Ama home!" a little voice chirped, and there was the sound of a small pair of feet pattering over the medical suite's durable polycomposite floor-

Lucy! It was like a heatlance into a delicate piece of anatomy; the last thing she wanted was for a certain overexcited sparkling to attempt their usual Greeting Maul when the target of their affection wasn't likely to interpret it correctly… Tired though she was, in one long smooth move, Forceps was out of her chair, skilfully intercepted the sparkling, and scooped her up before she'd covered even half the distance. "Whoo, there! What are you doing, mischief?" she scolded, affectionately.

"See Ama!" Footloose explained, sounding peeved at having been foiled, and squirmed, trying to worm out of the restraining hug. "Say hellos!" She pointed at the door, for illustration.

"Not right now." Vexingly, Forceps turned around and carried her _away_ from the private little sideroom. "Ama's not very well, she needs to get some rest. You can see her later."

"But miss her! Just want to say hellos." The sparkling offered up her very best most appealing expression. "Please? I be good. Only see, then come help Ausep?"

The surgeon gave her a half-hearted glare. "No, because I know you too well – and I _know_ you won't just say hello, you'll go climbing all over her-"

"But want see her!" Footloose insisted, wriggling in earnest and trying to pry her aunt's large fingers away from her torso. "Just want to see!"

"And I said no, you're going to have to be patient. You know what that word means, right, Button?" Forceps gritted out; apparently 'no' was not computing, any more, and Footloose was not so much _squirming_ as actively _fighting_ to free herself.

Footloose was _also_ getting more strident the longer Forceps kept hold of her. "No! Ama! _Amaa_!" she wailed, miserably, ineffectually clawing her little hands over her aunt's strong arms and kicking in a futile attempt to free herself. "Want Ama!"

"I only said 'not right now', Button, not '_never'_…" Forceps was trying to soothe the rankled little temper, but the sparkling was working herself into a ball of stress and ignoring the gentle harmonic, and the surgeon herself had an ill-disguised scowl on her face. "Ama's sick."

"But want _see_ her!" Footloose squealed, thrashing; it was like trying to keep hold of an agitated little metal crane fly. "See her now, _now_!"

"Footloose? _No_," Forceps growled, at last, and the complaints fizzled out into little mewling sobs of static. It had been _that_ tone of voice – the one _both _sparklings had learned to recognise instantly. The velvet glove had come down, and no amount of ruction would be shifting it. "You can see Ama when she's feeling better," she added, in a gentler tone, gathering the suddenly-floppy sparkling closer to her chest. "She's not going to go anywhere. You just need to be a good girl and be patient."

"Want see her," the little femme wept, rubbing cheeks. "Please, I be good _now_, just want say hellos."

"Ama is very sick, right now. She can't have you climbing all over her." _Argh. Why did sparklings have that in-built capacity for making you feel really bad for refusing them, sometimes?_

"Won't climb, promise! Just to say hello. Please? _Please_?"

Forceps cast a despairing glance over the top of the infant's head, and finally met Skywarp's semi-curious look around the doorway. "Now, look," she half-scolded, gently, taking advantage of the opportunity that had presented itself. "You've upset Day. He's come to see what you're making all that racket about."

Footloose looked up over her shoulder and gave him her best wide-optic'ed, wobbly-lipped look, and after a bit of wiggling stuck her arms out in a _hug please_ gesture.

"Come on, you noisy little pest," Skywarp took her gently out of Forceps' arms; the tiny femme was sufficiently stressed as to be vibrating. "Ama's tired. She needs to get some rest."

"But want see her," Footloose mewed, pathetically, jamming her head up under his chin and trying to mould against the upper part of his chassis. "Want see _now_. Miss her!"

"Eh, come on. Be fair. She's only been in out of the muck for a little while, she's all dirty and fragile. Let her get over that first, yeah? I'm sure she wants to see you as well, but you've gotta be good, like Ausep tells you. She's not gonna go anywhere," he counselled, pinging her antennae. "You can see her later. All right?"

"Why not _now_?"

The voices were fading as they moved further away down the corridor. "Because your grumpy auntie said so. You don't want her to turn you into an alarm clock, do you? 'Cause she will, if you're not careful!"

"Clock not make fly."

"Well, then…"

The surgeon waited until they'd faded completely from her audio range before sighing and sagging to her aft on the nearest stool. _Primus_ this was going to be hard work; not just the repairs to the physical problems, but the repairs to all the damaged psyches around here, because there were going to be plenty of _them_ by the end…! She rubbed her temples, and cycled cold air, and wished she was a part-time psychiatrist. This was _far_ outside her field of expertise; she was going to just have to move cautiously, and keep her fingers very firmly crossed that no-one _worsened_ the problems Siphon had caused.

Something dropped onto her shoulder; she glanced sideways to find it was a scarlet hand with long, dexterous fingers. She glanced up to meet its owner's muted azure gaze.

"When was the last time you defragmented?" Ratchet wondered, quietly.

She avoided the question. "I'm all right." She went to get to her feet, but Ratchet kept his hand on her shoulder and held her in her seat. "I've had energon, my energy levels are fine."

"That wasn't what I asked. Primus, why are doctors _always_ the worst patients?" he scolded. "Look at you. You've not defragmented in orns, you _must_ be down to your last memory stacks and I don't really want to be forced to say 'I told you so' when you overflow them and crash."

She didn't answer vocally, but her pouting silence was all the answer he needed.

His features eased into a faint, reassuring smile. "Just a few cycles is all I'm asking you to take. I can keep an optic on things just as easy as you. The Troublesome Twosome can't get through the subspace baffle – the only way they'll be able to get in to disturb Pulsar is the conventional way, through the door, and I'm more than capable of stopping them managing that."

Forceps studied her fingers, for a moment or two, weighing the options up in her mind, then nodded. She _did_ feel sluggish; the breem or two she'd snagged here and there to delete meaningless sensory data off her memory and give her a few more cycles of wakefulness had just made things all the more fragmented. "All right. But just a cycle or two," she agreed, gruffly. "And you wake me the instant anything changes?"

The second half of the statement had been more of a _plea_ than an instruction; Ratchet smiled, and nodded. "Of course. But that's _only_ if you get your aft into that hibernation chamber in the next few astro-seconds and clear some of that clutter out of your mind!"

0o0o0o0o0

Concerned though he was for his trine-mate, it had been nice to finally get a little peace and quiet to work, and Starscream was _almost_ finished with Skywarp's armaments. A few little tweaks, some diagnostics and rigorous testing, and he'd get them fitted. He kept his fingers crossed that maybe it'd make Skywarp a little less _sullen _in the process.

The red Seeker emerged from his adopted "workshop", and almost bumped square into Prowl.

"Ah! Starscream. I was just coming to find you," the head of security explained, as if it was the most normal thing in the world for the head of Autobot security to be going looking for their former nemesis for a polite chat.

"What? Why?" Interesting though it was to have the Autobot looking for him and not planning also on _shooting_ him, it left the jet suspicious. He backed up a step.

"Well, Perceptor and I have been analysing recent data from Sky Spy, and… well, we're pretty confident that we know where they are."

"'They'? You don't mean Thundercracker-?" Starscream had to restrain the sudden urge to try and shake a clear answer out of him.

"We think so. We're certainly confident it's where Pulsar came from, and extrapolating from that we're guessing Siphon and his allies are there also…"

"How? How do you know?"

"The wafer Forceps took from Pulsar?" Prowl offered the databoard, and didn't flicker an optic when the former Decepticon snatched it urgently from his fingers. "Wasn't strong enough to get a whole message out, but _was_ strong enough to send a regular signal to Sky Spy. Once we knew where we were looking – Perceptor's analysis of the sand gave us the first clue, and once we got Skyfire's report and the wafer? We think we've found them. We certainly have the location where the signal first emerged." He watched carefully as Starscream studied Sky Spy's recorded video surveillance. "We couldn't get a visual confirmation of an entryway, or anyone going in and out, but if you look? There's a variety of tracks, and they all go straight into a rockface."

"It's not a trick?" Starscream gave them a serious look. "I'm not going to get anyone's hopes up unnecessarily."

"We're keeping a very close optic on it, and Sky Spy has been programmed to notify one of us – yourself included – if it observes any activity at all. Once you and Skywarp are back up to capacity, we'll see about getting you some backup."

A crimson gaze met a blue one, suspiciously. "Why would you do that?"

Prowl managed a vague smile. "The sooner you have your wingmate back, the sooner you're out from under _our_ feet."

0o0o0o0o0

A few breems later found Skywarp sat at a table in the corner of the rec-room; he had his head propped on one hand, and was using the other to twirl a small empty energon cube on its point against the table, dispiritedly. This sucked. Sucked _bigtime._ Sucked more than being hooked on Blue had. Stupid Siphon. He was so totally gonna rip him to pieces – with his _denta_, given half a chance.

At least Footloose had finally exhausted all her surplus energy and gone dormant, on the table and curled into the corner formed by his arm and chassis. She stirred every now and then, if people were particularly noisy, but rarely did more than flicker her optics and snuggle her cheek closer to Day's arm. He let his cube rock back to the table and used finger and thumb to straighten her antennae, absently; she'd inadvertently bent them into funny shapes during her earlier tantrum.

Poor li'l spark, it wasn't fair on _her_, either; probably didn't even understand _why _she couldn't go and see Ama. _Somebody beat the bolts out of her and we don't want to mess __you__ up as well by having her screaming at you, Button_. He felt like he wanted to reassure her it'd be okay, but at the same time he didn't know what _to_ say. Wasn't as if he'd had a whole lot of experience in reassuring frightened sparklings! It was an unfamiliar sensation, and he wasn't entirely sure he liked it. Left him feeling… well, _vulnerable_, actually. Like he had a big flashing neon sign over his head that read '_HEY MEGATRON, see the sparkling? You just nab her, and I'll do whatever you tell me, no questions asked!'_

Fraggit, this was _such _a load of old slag. If only they could find a way to rewind time, and just… tell themselves not to go to Cybertron. Make sure everything stayed absolutely the same as it had always been. No sparklings, no femmes, no Siphon, and no hurt-homeless-Seekers-relying-on-Autobot-handouts. That'd be best. And the best thing about _that _plan would be there'd be no-one to miss, because they wouldn't exist.

He wasn't sure exactly what he hated most about the current situation – what Siphon had _done_, or the pitying, sympathetic way the Autobots had all apparently collectively decided to treat him as a result. Like he himself was some delicate little Autobot who needed to _talk_ about it, to pour out all those mushy stupid feelings. In the event that anyone _did_ get close enough to talk to him, a smouldering scarlet glare soon sent them packing again.

That goddamn Autobot melting-spark mentality; all those fragging… _pitying _looks they kept giving him. _Look at the poor stupid Decepticon. His poor stupid little femme is all scared of him, we'll have to _sympathise endlessly_ but not actually make any effort to help find and smash the fraggers that did it. _He wished someone would give him an excuse to hit them. Pit, a fight might help him work off a little of his _frustration_-

"Yo, Skywarp."

He glanced up to find a bright-optic'ed and probably-over-energised Sideswipe peering up over the back of the sofa, beckoning. "What d'_you_ want?" the teleport grumbled.

"We have high grade, over here!" The red twin lifted a cube of bright liquid, by way of explanation.

"Big deal." Skywarp went back to twirling his cube. "Goodie for you."

"Eh? What?? That wasn't what I meant-! It was meant to be a hint!"

Skywarp let the cube drop flat against the table, and glared. "Just… leave me alone, Autobot," he snapped, stabbing a threatening finger for emphasis. "Go suck the sump out of someone else, 'cause I am _so_ not in the mood for it right now."

"Huh. Fine. Either we can take that as an insult, in that you're somehow _above_ partaking of our high-grade, or else we'll assume you're just a lightweight that couldn't handle it and is too much of a wuss to say _no_," Sideswipe snarked, good-naturedly.

"…what?" Skywarp's glare slipped askew and left him looking baffled.

"Primus sake, already!" A dark head with yellow cheek-fins appeared from behind the sofa and glared. "Does he have to slagging well write it on a bit of metal and hit you with it before you get the hint? Do. You. Want. To. Come. Share. It. With. Us?"

Skywarp sat up a little straighter. "Why would you do that?" he wondered, suspiciously, and narrowed his optics to little slots. "What have you put in it, glue?"

"Pssh. We don't dislike you enough to want to risk the Hatchet's wrath when he has to clean you out again." Sunstreaker jerked a thumb at Sideswipe. "The resident idiot thinks it'd be a nice thing to do, because it might stop you picking a fight with him." His voice descended into mutterings. "Pit only knows _why_, between the two of us we could trounce you into the floor easily if you started anything."

"Wait-wait, Sunny… Isn't _he _the resident idiot?" Sideswipe wondered, amiably.

"No, he's the _visiting_ idiot. Primus, I really _am_ surrounded by morons today…"

Skywarp pursed his lips, irritably. He didn't trust the pair of them any further than he could throw them, and they'd probably choked that "high-grade" full of all kinds of nasty rubbish… but Pit, if he joined them? It would annoy Sunstreaker, and that was good enough for now. He gathered Footloose carefully against him, and levered himself to his feet.

"Where we go, Day?" Footloose wondered, sleepily, holding on with one hand and sucking the fingers of the other. "Back to see Ama?"

"Not yet, Button. We're gonna go sit with the twins," he replied, gently, making sure she wasn't going to fall off his arm.

"Sighswipe and Sneaker?"

Skywarp grinned in spite of himself at Sunstreaker's peevish expression. "That's right."

"Then to see Ama later?"

"…mayybe. If Sepp says we can."

Although Sideswipe looked like he'd had more than enough to make him oblivious to the concept of factions, Sunstreaker looked pretty unimpressed at the idea of sharing with a _Decepticon_, and the small cluster of humans all moved instinctually to the distant side of the circle as the jet approached. Skywarp settled uneasily in the large gap that had formed, and helped Footloose get herself comfortable in his lap.

"I'm surprised you're not with your femme, catchin' up on lost time-… sorry, '_helping out'_ with her," Sideswipe commented, holding out a tall flask of shimmering opalescence. He'd either not heard the drama that had followed Pulsar's arrival, or was just too drunk to successfully compute the ramifications of it right now.

Skywarp rubbed his temples and accepted the tall brushed-aluminium flask of high-grade with a quiet mutter of thanks; Footloose was obviously tired, because she didn't even ask if it was for her. "I would if she wasn't scared of me," he grumbled, softly, setting it down in the loose circle formed by his legs. "Like that's not the stupidest thing _ever._"

"Isn't that what Decepticons are meant to do?" one of the humans piped up, daringly; she was flushed weirdly pink, and Skywarp guessed the selection of empty brown bottles around them meant they were probably just as over-energised as Sideswipe. "Scare folks?"

"She wasn't scared of me _before_," Skywarp corrected, darkly. "Frag it, I mean, she let me get close enough for us to spark up Lucy and Seem – _and_ way waay up in the air!" He pointed for emphasis, just in case they didn't get it. "And she's such a scaredy little groundling, she usually blows her master fuse just at the _idea_ of being off the ground. And now?" He threw up his hands. "She's scared of _me_, and _I _haven't even _done anything. _So fragging… stupid." He glared down into his flask for a moment or two, and watched as light danced across the surface of the opalescent fluid it contained. "Fuck it. Bottoms up, eh?" He sighed, annoyedly, upped the flask, and drained it in a long, single swallow…

0o0o0o0o0

It was not a good thing, Starscream considered, that he could hear the elevated voices from the rec-room from all the way down the corridor, and one of them was obviously Skywarp – and an over-energised Skywarp, to boot; he certainly didn't hang about when he wanted to get inebriated, did he? The others sounded like… ohh fantastic, sounded like the Autobot Twins. At least – he silently thanked Primus for the small blessing – they weren't _shooting_ at each other yet. Sounded relatively jovial, in fact. He followed the noises, slightly anxious of what he might find...

The lack of riot was reassuring. Skywarp was parked on the floor, part of the circle of Squishies and Autobots, looking like he was actually fairly comfortable in spite of the fact he was sitting right next to Sunstreaker. Footloose was tucked drowsily up against him, sitting on his thigh and resting her cheek against his chassis, looking like she'd far rather be recharging but kept awake by all the noises around her.

One of the humans in the circle looked like she was _completely _drunk out of her pink Squishy processors and was in the teleport's lap, using him somewhat as a hard sentient armchair. She was mauling his paintwork, investigatively, probing fingers between plating and caressing the smooth curve of his cockpit, never having been able to get quite so close to quite such an infamous living weapon before, and yet finding him strangely similar to the Autobots she knew so well. For his part, the over-energised and not-entirely-with-it teleport was examining the femme's hair, grasping strands and pulling then straight, and watching as they _pinged _back into ringlets; his large fingers weren't that much smaller than her entire head, but he was being oddly delicate about his investigations.

Starscream winced, subtly, wondering what devilry they were plotting. The twins were bad enough on their own; add Skywarp's puerile sense of humour into the mix and who _knew _what sort of smeltery might ensue?

…thankfully, Skywarp looked like he had nothing more wicked in mind than drinking himself into a stupor. He glanced up, and smiled at his wingmate's approach, wonkily. "Hey Screamer. Come to join the fun?"

"What _are_ you doing?" The red Seeker treated him to a suspicious glare.

"These humans just called it getting plastered," Skywarp explained, dazedly, and lifted a half-cube of scintillating energon, then added, just in case the way he was swaying wasn't a good enough explanation, "they mean getting over-energised."

There was a distracted ripple of amusement from the rest of the circle, and the clink of flasks and glasses being knocked together.

"Getting? I'd say that looked more like _got_, and some time ago, too," Starscream half-scolded, and folded his arms. "Autobot hospitality is obviously good for you."

"Well I've got to do somethin', right? Since you said 'keep out of trouble'. And drinking all that spare energon they've got lying about the place seems like a very good idea."

By now, a drowsy Footloose had climbed to Skywarp's shoulder and stuck out her arms, waiting for Starscream to notice her; he made a face, but obliged by picking her up, and she tucked herself instantly into her usual spot alongside his cockpit. "Noisy here," she commented. "We go back to Ausep?"

"That sounds like a good idea, since Day looks like he's more interested in pickling his processors than looking after you."

Skywarp shot him a dirty look. "Well, it's not like there's _anything else_ worth doing in this fragging _hole_, is it?" he grumbled, morosely. "Sepp won't let me go see Squeaky, and _you_ won't let me go look for TC, so what _else_ is there to do?"

"I suppose the idea of actually looking after your little one is nowhere near your radar?"

"She's depleted, and wants Ama. What exactly do you think I can _do_ for her?"

They matched stares for a moment or two, and for once Starscream was first to back down. "All right. All right, I suppose that's a fair point. Sensitivity is none of our forte, especially with too much energy flying around." His stern features softened a fraction. "Well, I'm not coming to break things up if you get into another fight with anyone," he ruled, but it sounded more like a friendly warning than the snap of an irritable senior officer. "And I won't spring you from the brig, either. But… you're more than big enough and ugly enough to look after yourself otherwise, so…" He boosted Footloose up a fraction. "I'll make sure Lou gets to bed."

"I tell you," one of the femmes observed, sagely, watching the unlikely pair leave, just loudly enough to be heard over the ripple of amusement that followed, "that kid won't stay that cute for long."

"Jack still causing you problems?" Spike wondered.

"Terrible twos," the femme confirmed, dryly. "Little pest's learned where I keep the cookies, I've had to hide them _waay_ up on top of the fridge where he can't get to."

"I didn't know robots could have babies," the femme in Skywarp's lap commented – called herself Carly, Skywarp recalled. Or Curly, maybe. Curly made more sense, with all the curly fuzz she had on her head.

Skywarp vented hot air from his exhausts in a snort of amusement, rustling her hair. "That makes two of us," he agreed, dryly. "Especially when they just… _appeared_. Like, _bam_, and there they were."

"She's kinda tiny, isn't she, your missus," Spike observed, frowning in an effort to recall what he'd briefly glimpsed of the new arrival. "I'm surprised she didn't snap in half under the weight of carrying those two."

"My _what? _What would she have done _that_ for?"

"Well come on, if your kids are the same size? She'd have been _huge_…" Spike held his hands near his abdomen, and mimed a very pregnant belly. "Like, _enormous_."

Skywarp stared at him with his lips parted in confusion for a few astro-seconds before casting his gaze at Sideswipe. "You're familiar with humans, right? Because I get the feeling that one's trying to tell me something," he joked, trying to hide a genuine confusion. "There's all these noises coming off its vocaliser, but I don't understand none of 'em."

Spike made a huffy, exasperated noise before Sideswipe could say anything. "Babies don't just pop out of the ether, you big dumb turkey," he groused, pinging a bottlecap at the teleport. "They've got to be made somewhere."

"Well, duh," Skywarp agreed. "I don't get-… what do you-…" He frowned as a penny apparently dropped. "You don't think we make 'em inside _here_, surely?" He gestured to his own abdominal plating.

"Well, sure, why not? It's what human women do, and you're kinda similar, right?"

The dark Seeker snerked his amusement. "I know I'm not the brainiest, and I'm _far _from an expert on Squishy biology, but you're gonna have to do better than that, human," he said, giving him a prod. "Even stupid little me isn't going to fall for _that_ load of old smelt."

"No, seriously," Carly insisted, craning her neck to look up at him and sliding off his thigh in the process, to lay crosswise across this lap. "Women have a womb here." She patted her abdomen. "It's where babies grow, when we decide we want kids. It's called pregnancy."

"You humans grow squishlings _in you_?" The teleport sounded like he wasn't sure if he should be astonished, disbelieving or disgusted. "Like some horrible little squishy pink parasite?"

"It's not _disgusting_, it's a little miracle," Carly's friend argued; she had a toddler at home and took immediate offence to the big robot calling it a 'parasite'. "Besides, if it's so disgusting how do _you_ guys do it?"

"Well, you just…" Skywarp waved a hand, as if that would magically conjure up the explanation he was after. "You… well, you… I… don't really know." He pursed his lips and frowned. "I wasn't there. I figure… I guess you'd suck the new harmonic into its own spark chamber, and then build a protoform around it. I don't know how you'd do it, though."

"You don't have a little micro factory for making sparklings in there, then?" Carly gave him a daring poke in the abdomen. "You just said you weren't there, so you never know, there might be!" She arched both eyebrows, curiously. "Can we have a look and check?"

"No." He wrinkled his nose, but looked more amused than annoyed, and put a hand in the way of the curious set of fingers that was trying to pry between his plating. "You're disgusting. Besides, where would it all fit? Where the frag does it all fit on _you_?" He gently prodded at Carly's stomach, and made her snort and try to flail her way out of his lap. "If you'd not noticed, we're not even as stretchy as _you_."

"I could help you with that!" Sideswipe piped up, with a wicked grin. "I always wanted to see what would happen if you replaced all a mech's connective fascia with sheet rubber!"

The circle dissolved into hoots of amusement when one of the humans suggested that if they gave Screamer enough helium, he wouldn't have to worry about his missing thruster, he could just _float _off. (Skywarp added that it was a wonder he hadn't already, given how much hot air he was full of.)

"I guess he was lucky it was the femme got sparked," Sideswipe put in, amusedly. "Pit, can you imagine those three underclocked idiots running about and trying to keep it hid from Megs if _Warp_ was the one landed with carrying 'em?"

All three mechs subsided back into laughter – Skywarp included – and conversation rippled back and forth about whether it would have been possible to hide it from Hook, and how much bribing him into silence would have cost, because it would certainly not have been possible to get the new sparks _out_ without rousing suspicion.

"What do you mean, Sides?" Spike wondered, in the lull, and glanced at Skywarp. "You mean _you_ could have kids, if you wanted?"

Skywarp arched a brow. "I've already got _two_, what more do you think I want? I'm not _intentionally_ building my own army, here."

"No, no, I mean… okay, imagine you wanted kids with someone else…" Spike was unconsciously copying Skywarp's earlier hand-waving in his efforts to find the words he wanted to explain what he meant. "Say… if you wanted kids with Starscream."

"Now you're _really_ being disgusting," Skywarp asserted, and flicked him into Sunstreaker's lap.

"Oww." Spike remained where he'd landed until Sunstreaker ejected him onto the floor; the Seeker's blow had been _reasonably_ gentle, but would probably still leave a sizeable bruise. "That wasn't what I meant, I just couldn't think of-… all right, if Screamer and Skyfire got together, is that better?"

Skywarp _snrk_-ed, but didn't argue the pairing. "Primus, their offspring would be _so_ messed up, they'd tear 'emselves to pieces-"

Spike glared. "Will you let me finish? I was _trying_ to say…" He raised his voice and made throat-clearing noises until the dark Seeker finally quietened and returned his attention to him. "You're a guy, right? Like them. If _they_ got together, would _they _be able to have a kid? They wouldn't have to, I don't know, have some sort of refit to turn them into a fem-bot first? It's not just something girl robots do?"

"Nah," Sideswipe shook his head. "It's more down to sem-… some-antie-… help me out here, Sunny."

"Semantics?" his brother suggested, drolly.

"Yeah! What he said."

"Are you _still_ here, Skywarp?" a voice chided gently from somewhere behind, and the circle turned collectively to watch a frazzled green surgeon approaching with a half-cube of lilac.

Like a giant-sized version of Footloose, the dark Seeker butted his head up into her palm and purred his turbines, encouragingly. "Sepp, come join us," he insisted, hauling down on her arm.

She sighed and petted his audio vents, allowing him to drag her down into a seated position in the circle. "All right, all right." She wafted a hand in front of her face. "I hope none of you have any naked flames on you, because you _reek_ of vapours, and I don't want to be caught in it when you ignite yourselves."

"No worries, I'm flameproof," Skywarp reassured her, amusedly.

"Flame _retard__-_ant," Sideswipe corrected, and the pair of them snorted and jostled drunkenly. Well, at least it wasn't _violent_…

"…and the humans?"

"Barbecue," Sideswipe offered, without missing a beat.

Forceps sipped at her cube and shook her head. "So remind me. What do you want?"

"Ooh! Yeah. You need to explain to them," Skywarp waved an arm to encompass the humans, "about our genders."

"What?" She first surveyed the circle of expectant faces, then gave him a look. "Explain _what_ about them?"

"What makes you different," Spike suggested.

"Yeah, why guy robots could get pregnant as well as girl robots," Carly added.

Forceps stared at them for several long moments before rediscovering her vocaliser. "What _have _you flock of drunken idiots been discussing?"

"Just explain?" Skywarp wheedled.

"All right, all right. Let's see. Among our kind, gender is a… societal construct, if you like," she explained, carefully. "More of a mental and sociological difference than a physical one, like yours is. From the way I understand your biology? Ignoring chromosomal abnormalities, you humans are _genetically_ one gender or another, regardless how you later come to regard yourself." She surveyed the blank faces, briefly – too over-energised to take it in? "Um, all right, what I mean is, whatever your-" …what were those terms? "Whatever your _gender identity_, in terms of your genes, you're either male or female. Correct?"

"I don't know, Carly still hasn't let me look in her jeans," Spike bemoaned, and got an elbow in his ribs from Carly's friend for his trouble. "Oww, what?! I'm only telling the truth."

"_Point being_," Forceps elevated her voice just enough to be heard before the two inebriated humans generated a riot. "When it comes to physical attributes, there's not a whole lot that distinguishes one gender from another, for us. Being _male_ or _female_ is mostly a state of mind."

"So what you're saying… is that if he wanted, Screamer could decide he wanted us all to call him a girl – not that we don't anyway, but… – and it wouldn't make a jot of difference?" Spike challenged.

"Essentially?" Forceps levelled her gaze at him. "And you didn't hear it from me! But… Yes. Correct."

The circle fell about laughing. "_Lady_ Starscream!"

"Well it sure explains _some_ things, right?..."

0o0o0o0o0

As a Decepticon, fighting for the Decepticon cause, Thundercracker had always managed to find just enough excuses to assuage his conscience. You're fighting for something you believe in. You're fighting to end the war, to restore Cybertron to its former glory. You're only actively fighting those who can fight back, you're only defending yourself when the Autobots attack you. You're a Decepticon, but you're not _that_ bad; better you're here to at least _try_ and moderate your wingmate's excesses than cut your losses and run and have them totally lose it. Besides, if not for you, they'd probably have tried to kill _each other _a dozen times every single orn, so you're staying for them, most of all. They were all cosy, familiar excuses that had served him well for countless vorns.

…he very quickly realised he could dredge up _no_ good excuse for this. So Siphon had primed him, left him open to suggestion, seeded his subconscious with gentle hints and nudges… so what? He'd been in the driving seat. He'd agreed with the suggestions, and gone along with all the gentle pokes and prods that steered him into the appropriate direction. And at the time? He'd _seen _the stupid Autobot that needed punishing for daring to trespass on Decepticon territory – the stupid little thief that thought his faction owed it a favour. He'd _seen_ the little assassin trying to get close enough to off Starscream, or Skywarp. He'd _seen_ the sneaky, treacherous little femme that had flashed her curves and lured Skywarp away, tempted him with exciting narcotics, poisoned him and almost left him permanently crippled. He'd _seen _the manipulative harlot that got herself sparked _purely_ to prey on Warp's rudimentary conscience.

Clear headed and watching from the outside, he _knew_ they were hallucinations, brought on by mind-altering virals. The sleek, hipthrusting creature that had blown a kiss from exaggerated lips, and flashed him aspects of her anatomy that no-one except Warp should have been party to? A hologram. The teasing chuckle of denial when Siphon asked if she had any regrets for what she'd done? A clever twitter of sound in all likelihood stolen off the humans' internet. The husky, sweet voice that had spoken so beautifully to his starved audios? The helpless scratch of a ruined vocaliser, pleading for mercy.

But he was so… so heavy. So sluggish. So… incapable of making the distinction. Whatever Siphon told him it was, it was. No questions asked, no scenario to outlandish for his malfunctioning processors to discount. So when the tanker, dressed in a parody of a medic's outfit, had told him he needed to salvage useable parts from the 'dead' Policebot? _That's just the stress in the metal, _the sweet, persuasive voice had said, over the long, bubbling shriek of pain as he'd begun to remove a foot with sheer brute force. _Just the pressure equalising in the fuel system. _

It was difficult to keep himself steady, outwardly unaffected (_won't show the sociopath that he's getting to me_), but remarkably, exercising Skywarp's philosophy on life – "just try not too hard to think about things" – was making it a little _easier_. It did mean that occasionally something would totally blindside him (and _damn_ had he hit her hard on a few occasions…) but if he didn't go out actively looking for what was in the gaps in his memory record, the files generally remained dormant.

_You want to know why you're here?_ a voice echoed up out of the recent past._This-_ (and he recalled a violent, sweeping gesture to accompany the exclamation) -_is why you're here. This __filthy little whore__ landed you in this, chasing your wingmate's thrusters, dragging him into a situation he didn't deserve. _

_I don't remem-… she did? _The voice was barely recognisable as his own – the slow, sluggish responses of some lumbering idiot.

_Ohh she most certainly did. Look at her, smirking there. How _disgusting_. All just to score an underhand point or two against Decepticon supremacy. To leave you weakened and hurting, to leave you _vulnerable_._

_But we're not-… _

_It's all her fault you're here now. _If only_ she'd kept her hands to herself. _If only_ she'd left your long-suffering brother in peace. Wouldn't it be a _good idea_ to show this worthless little blob of tin why people don't mess with the Decepticons? This worthless little scrap of Autobot garbage._

_But isn't she-… she means… _The words were excruciating to dredge up. _Isn't she-… she's not… I thought… a friend?_

_A _friend_? An Autobot, a _friend _of one of the most feared and deadly Decepticon warriors ever to patrol the air? Primus, it's worse than I thought. Not content with merely saddling your wingmate with those… those little blackmailing emotional tumours… Now she's starting on you! And you're _buying _it? My word. _

_What?_ _I don't… I don't get… what…?_

Looking back on it, it was painfully clear how overdramatic Siphon was being. Every last word that issued from his vocaliser was exaggeratedly persuasive, the honey-sweet tones of a machine who didn't care how he did it, so long as he got what he wanted.

And yet-… and yet all he could remember thinking, as the voice murmured seductive encouragement into his audios, was _wouldn't it be _nice_ to just do what it was telling him? _To not have to _think_, through all this cloying heat and slowness. It obviously knew what it was talking about_. _It was smarter than him. He was so confused, so dull and stupid, how could he possibly be thinking straight? It must be right. The strange conflicts in his memory must be because he had a faulty record.

The sweet, husky voice dropped to a scratching growl. _You need to teach this little whore some manners. And you need to 'teach' her them the Decepticon way. _

The words spoken in the grating female voice got higher and more frantic the closer he got; _Don't TC don't __don't__ you're stronger than this you're stronger than thiiiee-!_

He flinched involuntarily from the dull whipcrack noise of stressed metal shearing off, but it was enough to bring him back to the present. He'd knelt almost motionless in the centre of the dirt floor for cycles, now – struggling to avoid looking, concentrating on memories he knew were safe, things he knew were just his wingmates' usual half-clocked idiocy… And he'd clenched his fists hard enough to damage an actuator in one of his knuckles, and the _snap _in his memory had coincided with the dull _pop_ of a shearing micro-component. He flexed his fingers and concentrated on the hurt – it offered a modicum of clarity, and let him banish the visions to the back of his cortex, where they belonged.

Primus. _Primus_, frag it. Warp would never forgive him, when he found out. That his and Squeaky's relationship was all kinds of fragged up? Sure. Even _they_ wouldn't deny _that_. They were both about as deep as puddles and had spent most of the short time they'd actually spent together arguing. But they couldn't _always _hide the way they'd manage sneaky grins at fond memories – even in this living Pit, before Siphon had really picked up the pace with his morbid plans, Pulsar had seemed comforted and relieved to hear nonsensical tales of Skywarp's latest idiocy. And much as they tried to deny it…? In the short time they'd known each other, Skywarp _did_ seem to have developed a soft spot for her, and Pulsar clearly had _more _than just a soft spot for _him._

He wished he knew what the future held. He wanted to get the yelling and shrieked accusations out of the way! Warp would never forgive him for just plain doing it. Screamer would never forgive him for being so fragging _weak minded._ Sepp would never forgive him for upsetting the rest of the family. And the little ones, who'd worked their way under his plating and right into his spark so easily? Would always be terrified of him. The big ugly monster in the shadows.

What could he possibly say in apology? Spouting off "it wasn't my fault" wouldn't cut it, he knew. He wasn't some whiney little Autobot caught sneaking more than his fair share of energon. He was supposed to be the calm, moderate, thoughtful, conscientious one of the three! But that wasn't saying much, not even _Skywarp_ could have skated on "it wasn't my fault" for something like this.

Thundercracker still had his head down and his optics dimmed – still kneeling silently in the centre of his floor, shoulders drooping, dispiritedly, pinioned wrists in his lap – when the door whispered softly across the dirt to one side, and admitted one familiar little figure. He didn't look up – didn't _need_ to look up. Siphon was the usual grimy wraith flitting through the shadows – back to poke him into another reaction, to damage his psyche a little more.

"Good morning," the tanker greeted, sweetly. "I trust you're well rested?"

Thundercracker flickered his optics a little brighter in a glare, a little narrower, but didn't answer the question otherwise. "Where's Seem?" was all he said.

"Not that it matters to you any more, he's completing his education – the Decepticon way." Siphon smirked, and gestured a hand to the cell's solitary glass window. "Take a look."

He didn't want to, but Thundercracker found himself following the arm anyway… Slipstream was almost out of sight, close to the entry doorway, and he had his back to him, a tiny machine dwarfed by almost everyone else in the room.

"A curious little creature, is the little one," Siphon commented, pacing his usual circle around his prisoner. "So very easily taught. So keen to learn, too! Even more remarkable when you consider whose offspring he is. All you have to do is give them a few pointers, and they play right into your hands…"

Seem had follower Megatron across the room, by now, and was apparently asking him a question, although the words didn't filter through the glass. He looked straight through the window, met Thundercracker's gaze… and recoiled. Actually _recoiled_, away from his former guardian, staggered backwards and _hid behind Megatron's leg._

"Primus-!" Thundercracker boosted himself up to his knees, horrified, reached his cuffed wrists out for the glass, as if he could somehow reach _through_ it- "What have you done to him-!?"

Slipstream had already taken shelter in the arms of the bigger mech, though, and through the glass the captive jet could _just_ hear the quiet simmer of distressed static.

"What have you _done _to him?" he croaked, beaten, sagging with a _thump _back to the floor.

"Oh, just showed him some pictures," Siphon replied, offhand. "Terribly impressionable at that age, aren't they?"

"Pictures?" Thundercracker looked up at him. "Pictures of what?"

Siphon chuckled and patted his cheek. "Pictures of you! Among, ah, heh... _other things_. Pictures of you. Pictures of her. Pictures of both of you, doing... well, we won't mention _that_. It's just a good job you had baffles in place."

"…wait-… what? …how can you think that is an acceptable thing to do to an infant? How could it even enter your processors in the first place?" Thundercracker stared up at the tanker, defeatedly. "What exactly were you trying to achieve?"

"Oh but he needs to _know_, Thundercracker. How is it fair to allow him to live under the misguided impression that you're somehow a, eh, how can I put it? Noble but misguided?" Siphon pressed a hand to his chassis, melodramatically, and chuckled. "I'm quite sure you didn't mince your words when telling him about Megatron and myself."

"I only told him what was true," the fallen jet retorted, although the strength of his conviction seemed to be fading. "I didn't _fabricate evidence_ to support a fallacy."

"Neither did I," Siphon purred, sweetly, at long last setting the murky half-cube of low-grade down by the door – making no effort to unbind his prisoner's wrists so he could pick it up without struggling. "I simply took advantage of the opportunity that presented itself. I can't help it if your subconscious is a terrible creature that just needed to be unleashed. Now if you'll excuse me? I have things to do."

The tanker had opened the door and was almost out into the corridor when Thundercracker finally spoke up once more. "I swear," he promised, so softly that the departing mech only just caught the words. "Even if I have to break every last component in my hands to get out, I will make sure this does not go unpunished."

Siphon hesitated, and glanced back at him. "I am not a powerful machine, Mister Thundercracker," he replied, equally softly. "Which is why _hope_ is such a powerful tool in my armoury. So long as a machine has it? They'll torture themselves quite happily without any input at all from me."


	22. Chapter 21

**Warped - Chapter Twenty One  
**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** Phew. _Lordy _did I have writer's block bad with this one. :( And it's _still _pretty short. Oh well. I hope it all kinda makes sense...

We'll be getting back towards some actual _action_ soon, I hope, not just lots of fluffy nothing.

* * *

Spike had sat and stared at his empty beer-bottle for several long contemplative minutes, listening to the others chat and generally be rude to each other, before foolishly suggesting ooh, hey, we could play "Spin the Bottle" or "Truth or Dare" or something. Skywarp initially failed to see the entertainment that could be found in just _spinning a bottle_, but after a quick (and very noisy) demonstration from the humans decided that actually yeah, he _was_ up for that, after all.

It started out pretty hectic, and didn't get a whole lot _better_. Forceps attempted twice to politely take her leave before anything 'unbecoming' happened, but ended up with a woeful, sad-faced mech insisting she just stay a "breem or two" longer hanging of each arms each time. Jazz was ultimately attracted over by the noise, and decided to give her and Sunstreaker a little sober backup.

After Carly dared Sideswipe and Skywarp to kiss – which they were drunk enough to happily oblige by doing, and with such enthusiasm they required bodily peeling apart by Jazz and a highly-disturbed Sunstreaker – Forceps accidentally-on-purpose lost the bottle before things could get any more raunchy (or, more importantly, she ended up a target – the idea of having _either_ Sideswipe _or_ Skywarp attempting to suck her face off was unappealing in the extreme.)

Sunstreaker watched her sleight of hand, amusedly. "That's probably a good idea," he commented, dryly. "I mean, why _risk_ being asked awkward questions in the first place?"

She levelled a scowl at him, but didn't rise to the bait.

"It's probably arbitrary now, anyway," he went on, airily. "Now we've got actual genuine Decepticons here as well as wannabes-… I mean, dedicated Neutrals."

"You're not starting _that_ again, are you, Sunny?" Jazz chided.

"No-oo." The yellow twin shook his head, with a practised guileless look in his optics, and mimed a halo with thumbs and forefingers making a ring over his head. "No point. I know I won't get an answer out of anyone anyway."

Skywarp watched the conversation shuttle back and forth, and finally made a (comparatively) huge leap of deduction. "Hey, I didn't know you were one of us," he commented, almost admiringly, giving Forceps a curious look. "You kept _that_ secret."

She cast her gaze skywards and rumbled her vents in a sigh. "Only because it wasn't important. I was only 'one of you' for a grand total of five orns; not even long enough to get my name and harmonic data listed."

"Still, that's longer than you were an Auto-doofus!" He turned to Sideswipe and waved a finger under his new best friend's nose, as if claiming a great moral victory. "I _told _you Screamer had good taste in medics." Then something filtered down through the various layers of racing thoughts to the core of his consciousness, and he turned back, brow furrowed in confusion. "Waaait, why _were_ you one of us?" he probed. "You're a… a wibbly Neutral, since when did you develop enough of a cast-iron constitution to throw your hand in with a faction?"

"I hardly think that's relevant after all these hundreds of thousands of vorns, do you?" she replied, defensively, folding her arms, defensively. "_Or _any of your business."

"If you went to them once before, it stands to reason you might do it again," Sunstreaker challenged, quietly.

"She's a _doctor_, Sunny," Jazz reminded.

"So's Hook. Your point…?" Sunstreaker spread his hands.

"True, but did Hook become a doctor through _choice_, or necessity? As he's the only one halfway competent enough to repair Megatron's flock of idiots up when they get their afts handed to 'em?"

"You're trying to excuse _Hook_, now?"

"No-o, I'm trying to see both sides of this thing, rather than _fixate_ on one side and refuse to see anything _else_ as a possibility."

"Hey, hey! I don't like what you're implying, there-!"

"All right, all right! It's nowhere near as outrageous or scandalous as you're thinking, Sunstreaker." Forceps grumbled, over the top of the arguing voices. "Primus, I never thought I'd have my right to a quiet life held to ransom by _Autobots_."

Every visual sensor in the entire room, both robot and human, turned expectantly towards her.

_Bad decision there, Sepp. Should have let them quarrel until it was out of their system. _She dropped her gaze to her lap, and studied her fingers, uncomfortable having all the expectant optics upon her. "If you must know, Hardline and I had an, ah… _disagreement_… over something that shouldn't have been used as a political football," she said, softly. "He joined the Autobots because of it, and because that made me angry with _them_… well, you can see where I'm heading."

"What did you argue about?"

She glanced up to meet Jazz's inscrutable face, and offered up a grim smile and retreated back a little. "Nothing you need to worry about."

Jazz elevated a curious brow, but inclined his head and didn't challenge it.

"I betcha it was a kid," Sideswipe piped up. "All Woof's problems started when he decided to get to procreating."

"If you call me Woof once more," Skywarp threatened. "Then I'm gonna hit you, _T-Bone_. Besides, Sepp's not got sparklings. Right?"

The initial silence wasn't quite as _stony_ as it usually was when a machine got on her wrong side. "That's right," she replied, at long last. "Never have done, and never will."

"See, told you…"

The subtleties that had sailed completely unseen over Skywarp's head weren't lost on Jazz; he leaned closer and started, softly; "Listen, I'm sor-"

"Don't be," she cut in, sternly, and added, more softly; "Please; don't. You weren't responsible for it, to start with. Besides, worse things have happened, and we're both over it."

"You sure?"

She _glaared_ amusedly and waved the bottle she'd confiscated earlier in a way that implied she'd like to throw it at him, although it looked more like an ampoule, in her large fingers. "Keep poking, Autobot, and _you_ won't ever be having sparklings, either."

Jazz chuckled and inclined his head, lifting his hands in surrender. "Let nobody ever accuse you of mincing your words, madam surgeon!" he observed, dryly, then gave his head a little jerk in Skywarp's direction. "Speaking of little ones… I think you ought to take Casanova and put him to bed before he sparks anyone else up. Or needs major corrective surgery for another broken nose."

"What? Casanova? Who's-…" She frowned, but followed his line of vision anyway, and found a lack of bottle hadn't stopped the dares getting more and more silly. "…oh."

Sideswipe was leaning 'casually innocently' on Skywarp hard enough to have jammed the Seeker against Sunstreaker. Skywarp had taken it as akin to either an invitation or instruction to get friendly with the yellow twin, who in turn looked like he was teetering on the point of landing his fist in Skywarp's face.

"Skywarp?"

The teleport looked up at her, and took a good few moments to get his optics to focus. "Ohh, hey, Sepp. What are you doing still here?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

She resisted the urge to cast her optics skywards in despair. "Waiting for you to finish dicing with death and allow me to drag your over-energised aft back to its berth in the medical centre."

"You want to take me to bed? Awww Sepp I didn't know you _cared_."

Forceps barely had time to blink before finding she had a lapful of drunken Seeker; her expression mirrored Sunstreaker's _very_ quickly. "_Not_ like that," she sighed, levering him back out. "I think this is proof you've had more than enough for now, agreed?"

"Aw, I've still got _plenty_ of room in my tanks!" he protested, rubbing his cheek affectionately against her arm, although if the fumes he was giving off were anything to go by it was vapour-space only.

"When I say 'enough', I mean retain the ability to move around without spontaneously combusting. I doubt the twins were anticipating you polishing off _all_ their high-grade when they invited you over."

"Oh that's okay, we've got plenty! And we don't mind, do we, Sunny?" Sideswipe reassured, and Sunstreaker pulled a face that said he _did_ mind, but was outvoted. "I'll be impressed if you can take off with that sort of payload."

Skywarp smirked and rumbled his engines, and Forceps promptly grabbed him. "Oh no you don't. No flying indoors."

"…spoilsport." The teleport huffed his turbines.

"And proud of it. Come on, you pain in the aft." She insinuated herself beneath his arm and got the pair of them upright; Skywarp elected not to help at all, dragging his thrusters. "You can't assimilate all that excess fuel properly if you're laid out in the middle of the floor, tripping machines over."

"But I _like _their floor…! A mech has space to stretch out…" He waved his arms dramatically to illustrate the theory, and almost sent the pair of them flying.

"I tell you what. How about I give the twins leave to turn you into a rug, then you can enjoy their floor as much as you like?"

"…um, actually, ok, thinking about it, I think I'd rather have my berth." Skywarp gathered his thrusters back underneath himself and – unsteadily – managed to just about walk on his own.

"For a Decepticon he's kinda sweet, now he's not trying to kill you guys," he heard Carly say, somewhere in the distance, and grinned stupidly to himself.

"Don't let it go to your head, she's drunker than you are," Forceps growled, noticing his silly expression.

"Oh, I know," Skywarp lurched along beside her, heels clattering hollowly against the floor as he tried (and mostly failed) to keep this legs underneath him, clinging to the supporting arm. "I just liked hearing it."

When they finally clattered through the door to the medical suite, Skywarp missed his berth altogether, the first time – it was only getting his wing jammed against Forceps stopped him mashing his abused nose into the floor. Two attempts later and the big femme lost patience altogether with him, caught him around the legs and heaved him up.

"Now are you going to behave and offline all by yourself, or am I going to have to make you?" Forceps wondered, making sure he was settled and not about to slide straight off the opposite side of his berth.

Skywarp folded his arms against the memory-foam surface, and pillowed his head with them. "I'm ok. I don't need your help."

"Sure?" She gave him a dubious look.

He offlined his optics for emphasis. "Absolutely positive."

0o0o0o0o0

When Starscream arrived back a breem or so later, it was to find Skywarp _far_ from dormant.

Ratchet looked up from a delicate piece of medical equipment he was trying to service, and pointed irritably off to one side as the red Seeker arrived. Starscream followed the pointing finger to find Skywarp – _very _awake and emotional – up on the sideboard next to Footloose's precious tank of _uulu_-fish, his legs crossed, gaze fixed on the door that led to the quiet little isolation room. Footloose was back in his arms, cheek against his canopy glass, curled up and almost offline, mumbling quietly to herself and sucking her fingers. The teleport looked unnaturally troubled, his lips pursed in a sad little grimace.

"You finally got bored of attempting to drown your temperature regulator, then?" Starscream challenged, tiredly, setting an armful of parts down on a convenient workbench to sort through. "How much _have_ you had tonight, Skywarp?"

"…Enough." The teleport gave him an evasive look.

"Enough, certainly, but for _how many_?"

"Ha ha." Skywarp gave him a sour look and attempted to fold his arms, huffily, in spite of the fact Footloose was right in the way. "My tanks aren't even full, just go ask Sepp…"

Ratchet drifted back out of plain sight with his equipment, wanting to give them a little peace without openly abandoning them to whatever idiocy Skywarp might get up to. He tried to politely keep his attention elsewhere, but it was far too tempting to eavesdrop – especially since Warp's over-energised vocaliser seemed to have run away from him at mach 20, and he wasn't even trying to censor what he was saying any more, simply pouring out every single thought as it came to him.

"I want to go see her, Screamer. Just once," Skywarp whined, softly, rubbing his brow. "I don't care if it means I'm _soft_. I just want to go see her, and tell her I'm gonna go find him and _stomp _on him for her."

"Do you really think _discussing_ violence will help her recover from having violence dealt to her?"

"I don't… you… what? I don't get it."

Starscream gave him a look; the vivid optics that looked back held a genuinely puzzled expression. "I doubt Sepp will let you past her if you're going to just remind Squeaky of all the things Siphon did to her," the red Seeker elaborated. "She's trying to help her _recover_, not keep reliving it."

"But that-… wasn't what I meant."

"I know, but it's the way it'll come across. So unless you want Sepp to do something nasty to you to keep you under control-"

"She won't hurt me, she's a doctor."

Starscream sighed, impatiently. "Just leave this whole thing in peace until you're sober, Skywarp. You're tearing yourself in three directions, at the moment."

"I can't help it. I think about what she looks like," Skywarp explained, faintly, "and remember what he's done to her… and then I think about TC, and Seem, and I see them all bashed up in the same way. And-…" He dropped his gaze to his lap, and finished on a more plaintive note; "Screamer, I don't wanna find TC and have him screaming at me."

"You know Thundercracker's stronger than that," Starscream eased, discarding a selection of unneeded clips. "And Megatron will probably see to it that Slipstream is unharmed, especially after all that effort they put in to grab him in the first place."

"But it's _Siphon_ doing it, what if even Megs can't keep that psychopath under control?"

Starscream levelled him a serious look. "If Megatron can control the Stunticons, I don't think you need to worry about his ability to keep one small unarmed vehicle in line-"

"But Megatron _built_ the Stunticons! And even _he_ has trouble getting 'em to do what he wants, what's he gonna do with that frigging _sociopa_-"

"Warp. Stop it."

Skywarp rounded his shoulders and tucked his chin down.

"I know you're worried – I am, too," Starscream went on, more gently. "But torturing yourself with all these what-ifs is the exact thing Siphon wants you to do. Why do you think he did all that to Squeaky?" One blue hand gestured at the isolation room door. "He _wants _you hurt and angry, so you're an easier target. If you still want to fall to pieces, wait until _afterwards_, all right?"

Skywarp studied his fingers, and elected not to answer.

The silence held for couple of breems. Starscream was beginning to wonder if (and hope) Skywarp had finally allowed himself to lapse into dormancy when the teleport spoke up again.

"You're good at this sort of science thing, right, Screamer?" he said, softly. "If I asked you to, reaaaally nicely, would you build us a time-travel device so we can go back in time and stop ourselves from even going to Cybertron in the first place?"

"What?" Starscream gave him a warily puzzled look.

"You know. Go back to before all this slag blew up in our faces? 'Cause things were easy, back then, weren't they? I just did what I was told, 'cause it was never anything more important than shoot the slag out of the Autobots, and you just argued with Megs and got your aft kicked. Squeaks would be driving everyone crazy with her whining but she'd still be in one piece. _And _TC would still be with _us_. Wouldn't be stuck out there in the desert with the crazy, he'd just be angsting over whether he still wanted to be a Decepticon, and we'd be telling him to shut the Pit up with his whining."

"No, Warp, that's what we'd be doing to _you_. And If I did that," Starscream argued, gently, "we'd generate a temporal paradox of such monstrous proportions, I'd probably hurt your poor brain even more just attempting to explain it. So I'll just say 'no, Warp, that's not a good idea'."

"But it's a _brilliant_ idea! Just _ignore_ the temporal para-whatsits, and it'll all be great!" Skywarp pleaded. "Come on, Screamer, we'll all be _normal_ again – you, me, TC, Squeaky, all of us. It's _foolproof_!"

Starscream gave him a sad look. "I wish I could explain to you _why_ it won't work, Warp," he sighed. "So you're just going to have to trust me. It won't work."

"You could at least _try_." Skywarp pouted, optics narrowing in a resentful glare. "You don't like _any_ of my ideas, do you. Just because I'm not as smart as _you_ are-"

"No, it's _usually_ because most of your 'great ideas' are strongly derived from human television and non-scientific handwavium," Starscream interrupted, irritably. "We're not going to find some magic fix to all this – we're just going to have to play with what we've been given, and hope we can muddle through."

"Story of our fragging _life_, that is." Skywarp glared at his wingmate, and watched suspiciously as he approached. "What do you want now, anyway?"

"I want you to get some rest," Starscream instructed, in his best no-arguments voice, carefully extracting Footloose from Skywarp's arms. "Partition off a little of that excess fuel, sort yourself out. You don't exactly do so well on thinking straight _normally_, let alone over-energised. And later, if you still want to talk about it when you're back on form, then I'll try explain exactly _why_ it won't work, all right?"

Footloose grumbled wordlessly at being disturbed, and rearranged herself with the top of her helm thrust up against Starscream's throat.

"It'd sort _everything_ out if you just _tried_-" Skywarp tried, irritably.

Starscream gestured a threatening finger at him. "_Get some rest_, Skywarp! For Primus' sake. I am not above _hitting you_ to make you go dormant!"

"Don't you tell me what to do!" Skywarp waved an arm at him and flopped his way off his perch. "You're not so smart either, 'cause this was _your_ slagging plan that went aft-up! _Your_ stupid fault we're stuck here with the Autobots, if we'd all stayed together-… frag, _Megatron_'s fault for making things hard in the first place, I'm so gonna go kick his aft-"

Starscream arched a brow. "_You_ are going to go and kick _Megatron_'s aft? I think you might have that the wrong way round."

"Oh come on, I can _so_ take him-! That… that… wannabe-Seeker, _ground-pounding_ loser… I'm faster, I'm _waay_ more agile-"

Starscream ignored him, mostly, settling Footloose into her little berth and checking her temperature was within limits before hooking the charging prongs into the appropriate places. "You're also over-energised and over-emotional," he said, dryly, not looking up. "You need to get yourself offlined, get yourself defragmented, and partition your tanks better so you can think straight." He directed his attention down at Footloose, who still hadn't _quite _got her drowsy fingers to unlatch off his thumb. "And _you_ need to behave yourself and stay in your berth, as well, missy. Come on, let go."

"I stay with Day," she protested, but her voice was a badly tuned fizz of distortions.

Starscream peeled her off him. "I strongly doubt he's going to be going anywhere. If I have to _hit him_ to get him to go night-night, then I will."

"Will you quit talking at me like I'm some dear widdle sparkling who needs your care and guidance?" Skywarp flared up.

"Certainly – the instant you stop sounding like one." Starscream rounded on him, and huffed his engines, frustratedly. "You are tearing yourself to pieces because you're trying to convince yourself that Megatron's the source of all our problems-"

"He _is_ the source of the problem!"

"Will you let me finish?"

"No, not if you're gonna 'finish' by talking out your exhaust some more!" Skywarp planted his fists on his hips and glared, belligerently.

"Primus, Skywarp…! _You_ did this to us. _You_ did it, because _you_ couldn't keep your fragging hands to yourself!" Starscream flared, his patience finally lost. "We are here now – outsiders, unneeded, unwelcome – because of you and your stupidity. _You _gave them the opening when you got emotionally involved – frag, when you made it so _all three of us_ were emotionally involved! – and Megatron has capitalised on it. So the sooner you take a little _responsibility_ for your actions, the sooner we can start to think how we're going to fix this!"

"You _slagger_!" Skywarp sounded outraged. Excess energy surging inside him, optics flaring almost white-hot with emotion, he took a drunken swing at his wingmate; Starscream moved easily with him, and trapped the flailing fist inside a cage of blue fingers. "Don't you fragging _deny_ me this!" Skywarp howled, and followed it with another swing, equally-easily countered. "I'm gonna slagging well kick your fragging _aft_ for that, now stand_ still_!"

"_Grow up_, Skywarp. Primus. How many thousands of Vorns do you have behind you? And you _still_ behave worse than your own offspring!" Starscream moved with him, keeping his wingmate's hands trapped and easily sidestepping the kicks.

"How about _fuck off _with the self-righteous fragging tone of voice?! I'm gonna slagging_ kill you_!" Skywarp struggled to free his hands, frustrated. "This is _not my fault!_" His words had already taken on a pleading edge towards the end of his sentence. "It's not _my_ fault!" His knees buckled, and they came together with a flop and a dull crunch of armour. He struggled very briefly, but couldn't get the coordination back together and quickly gave up.

"Okay, Warp, easy up, now," Starscream counselled, gently, letting him cling to him, and feeling the stressed vibrations gradually infecting all of Skywarp's over-wrought systems; his wings were already buzzing very softly. "I told you not to overdo it."

"Yeah but you're jus' a humourless old slagger anyway," Skywarp whispered, brokenly, but didn't move to remove his helm from where he'd tucked it up under his wingmate's chin. "Fuck it, Screamer. I hate this. I hate it."

"…I know, Warp. I'm not exactly a big fan of the whole mess, either. But flying faster than your emotions isn't going to help us sort it out. The only way we're going to get Thundercracker back is by being smart, and outwitting Siphon." Starscream paused, and added, in a lighter tone; "which shouldn't be too difficult, because we've got me."

Skywarp managed a feeble chuckle.

In the background, someone _pinged_ a set of co-ordinates and a code at Starscream; the Seeker glanced up, defensively, for the first time noticing their argument had been watched, but his temper quelled unusually quickly at seeing Ratchet standing politely to one side. A quick cross-reference had suggested the co-ordinates directed him to a room in the residential sector.

"I know the two of you are trying to covertly turn the place into your own little section of the _Ark_," the medic deadpanned, gesturing in such a way to encompass the whole of the medbay, "but I'm afraid I'm going to have to kick you out, for now."

"That's all right. We were going anyway." Starscream gave him a half-hearted glare, but didn't complain too loudly; he had the strong impression he'd just been given a silent invitation to use the medic's quarters. "Weren't we, Warp?"

Skywarp grumbled something that sounded like it was mostly static, but let himself be led.

Ratchet pressed something into the blue palm as Starscream carefully manhandled Skywarp past. The red Seeker glanced down to find a small semicircular device, shaped in such a way it'd cup the nape of the neck, and glanced up at the doctor.

"Just in case he won't offline by himself," Ratchet reassured, enigmatically.

Of course. Sedatives. Must be a stasis bracket, to gently nudge the cortex into standby. That made sense, there was no way Skywarp would be going dormant on his own with _this_ much energy slopping around in him, and he was too scatterbrained right now to think to partition it all off.

Although the expression he made looked more suited to a machine taking a wrench to a sensitive part of their anatomy, Starscream nodded, and subspaced the device. "…Thanks."

Ratchet looked pleased by the reply, though, no matter how grudging it had been. "Welcome. I hope it helps."

0o0o0o0o0

Still working quietly in the little sideroom, where she'd been since dropping Skywarp off several breems earlier, Forceps glanced up, and studied her patient's face; Pulsar was watching the doorway, lips pursed in a little grimace of dismay.

"Did you hear that?" the surgeon prompted.

The Policebot nodded, just once, and lowered her damaged gaze. "I want to see him," she said, at last. "Or-… at least… talk to him."

"You think you'll cope all right with that?"

Pulsar knew her friend meant _'will I have to swoop in and kick him out when you start screaming at the sight of him again?'_ "If I have to be blindfolded, then so be it," she confirmed, quietly.

0o0o0o0o0

As was always the way with his (supposedly) best laid plans… Megatron was starting to wish he'd rethought where he was going. And regretting starting this whole venture off in the first place.

He pinched the prow of his nose, tiredly. The plan had been such a simple one, it was hard to think how it had managed to go quite so stupendously _awry_. Of course, he considered, when those three Seekers were involved, there was very little that could be guaranteed _not_ to go immediately Pitwise.

The plan _had _been to grab the little ones, and first and foremost use them to keep the three _big_ sparklings in line, because Pit, one flier in particular had gone from total saluting obedience to in-your-face belligerence in the space of only a few Terran lunar cycles – and _that_ had only been in defence of his wing commander. Primus only knew what he'd have ended up like if he'd managed to somehow keep the younglings hidden on _Nemesis_.

Grab the sparklings, cue instant obedience from the rebellious threesome. _Provided you behave? The little ones remain unharmed. Might even let you see them, if you're reeeally well-behaved and do the frag as you're told, for once._

Once he had the youngsters in his possession, and the unruly fliers had been reminded _yet again_ of their place? (As in, you are _not_ in command, you _never will _be in command, and you will fragging well _do as you're told_…) He'd have dragged the ungrateful pair back in out of the dirt, got all three cleaned up and fixed up, checked they were absolutely a hundred percent aware of what would happen if they _didn't_ mind their manners, and after maybe a hiccup or two, status quo would have resumed nicely.

The ultimate result would have been _five_ for the price of _three_. Three obedient warriors, and two highly-impressionable younglings to train up to take Starscream's place, when the nigh-uncontrollable Air Commander finally overstepped the boundary and got himself permanently slagged.

And now… well, it felt like an exercise in sweeping sand in the middle of a sandstorm. Both sides of this mess seemed to be running in blind circles, and achieving nothing at all. Of course, it _was _probably the fault of the two so-called "Recovery teams", in the very first instance. If they'd succeeded in the oh-so-simple task of just grabbing the two sparklings – how _did_ two teams of highly trained warriors each fail to secure _one_ small, weak infant, when its guardian had already been grounded and dealt with?! – all would have gone perfectly to plan… But they were about as reliable as Starscream's trine at getting a simple job done with minimum fuss.

Megatron sighed, tiredly. Might just have to write this whole thing off as a bad job. The tradeoff didn't seem like it was going to be worth the effort, any more. So he had the little mech – so what? The fact he was bold as brass, almost as idiot-fearless as his sire, and would happily attempt to stare out even some of the most fearsome Decepticons… didn't really seem to count for a lot, any more. En route to getting this eminently trainable little warrior, he'd lost _two_ of best; all three, if Thundercracker kept on this downward spiral he'd got himself on. Recovering the missing two and the last sparkling was beginning to seem more and more like a pipe-dream.

Speaking of whom… Thundercracker cut a _very_ sorry figure, in that little cell. Two failed attempts at escaping had meant another rearrangement in living conditions, and now he wasn't even being given the liberty to move around – wrists pinioned, unable to even get back to his feet, held almost completely immobile. and slowly despairing of ever seeing his precious sky again.

Typical. The warlord sighed, and studied the broken figure from the doorway of its cell, silently. Why did it _have_ to be the ditherer? That Thundercracker was the only halfway sane one in his trine, no questions about it. That he helped moderate and regulate his two brothers, kept them from enacting the very worst of their aftery and stopped them getting their sorry sparks killed on a regular basis? Again, no questions, at all. But on his own? _Primus_. A machine more prone to self-doubt and self-destruction would be hard to find.

No, the only way he'd be able to call this a success would be to get all three back; they only operated at their best when it was all three together. Thundercracker was the voice of reason; had the patience to devote to explaining things to Skywarp, to moderate Starscream's temper, kept them even, kept them thinking straight. Starscream was very much the brain, the inspiration – when he wasn't plotting one of his ridiculous coups, he had an imagination and the intelligence to make his plans _work _that was second-to-none. If it weren't for the fact that success made him _trebly _impossible to live with, insisting on rubbing Megatron's face in it – _ha, aren't I so much better than you, maybe it's time we got a new leader!_ – the warlord would probably have allowed him a longer leash and more freedom to operate. And of course there was Skywarp, who was… well, it was had to work out exactly _what_ function the teleport fulfilled, except for the undeniable fact that without him, the other two functioned worse on all counts. Perhaps he was just a particularly effective punching bag? He _had_ looked suitably frightened and small those few times Megatron had smacked him, recently. Megatron smiled privately to himself; maybe all those unsavoury jokes doing the rounds on _Nemesis_ lately weren't so far off the mark, after all – the only mistake being exactly _which_ of the three was the trine's "bitch".

Perhaps – if he could find someone careful, methodical and dedicated enough to do it – he could use Thundercracker to draw the other two back. Perhaps if he cajoled the blue – correction, _formerly blue _Seeker back into the faction, got him fixed up and cleaned up and feeling more like himself again... The voice of reason could be the catalyst for bringing the other two back.

The silver giant crossed the sand in a few short strides, crouched in front of him, and watched as the optics flickered dully and struggled to alertness as they registered he was there.

"Meg-… tron," Thundercracker managed to buzz out. "What-… you want?"

"To tell you I'm prepared to allow the three of you one last chance," Megatron said, softly. "Back into the ranks, no questions asked. I can't forgive you, but I can… paint over it. Pretend it didn't happen."

Very faint damson optics met his gaze. "…can't do this any more," the broken jet croaked, faintly. "…'m tired. Can't put anything more… on my conscience."

"Well, that's as maybe, but I don't see that you have many options left, do you?"

Thundercracker remained quiet for several moments. "…'ll think of someth'n."

Megatron's brow furrowed, grimly; this was obviously going to take a lot more work than he had to spare. Perhaps his newest recruit could be persuaded to change his tactics from destruction to "social reprogramming" – it was the sort of thing he seemed good at, after all. The tanker had serious talents in psychology, and the warlord hadn't quite decided if he thought they were _amusing_ or _unnerving_.

"Your optimism is admirable, but sorely misplaced," he said, grimly. "You have nowhere else to go. You yourself know, deep down, that the Autobots will never forgive you for your war crimes. If you plead your case well, you may convince them to just lock you up forever – but I can't see that you'll consider being eternally grounded to be better than execution." He pushed himself tiredly to his feet. "I'm sorry, Thundercracker. We are still your only option."


	23. Chapter 22

**Warped - Chapter Twenty Two  
**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** Annnnd we're not TOOO late with the update, this time! Phew!

* * *

In the darkened interior of one of the rooms of the _Nemesis_'s living quarters, Skywarp lifted his head and grunted resentfully at the world. He'd been in stasis for _way _too long, and probably missed several duty shifts, Screamer'd have his-… wait, no. It was Screamer had dumped him here in the first place. And this wasn't _Nemesis_, it was Autobot HQ. That's right – things had gone properly aft-up this time, hadn't they? He chased a few memory fragments around for a breem or two, before leaving his poor brain to work on slowly picking all the relevant things back out of the holes in his psyche that it had tidied them away to.

Something _rustled_ as he lifted his head; craning his head to look backwards, he watched as a thermal foil finally completed slithering off his shoulders and to the floor. There was something else, too – an object, tucked just under his chassis where his turbines made an angle with the berth-

He sat up to find Footloose had burrowed up under his arm and was snugged in next to his canopy. How had _she _got there? He didn't remember her being here when Starscream had dumped him down and clipped that thing to the back of his head. (He put up a hand and found the whateveritwas was missing.) All he remembered was Screamer talking about nothing at him in a low, comforting drone while he descended into enforced stasis. He pursed his lips and reviewed his memory record;

_He'd been barely conscious, at the time, slowly succumbing to the device pushing him all the way into stasis – certainly beyond the point of comprehension, even if his sensors had picked it all up to be reviewed later, obediently. He had seen but not really processed the tiny figure in the doorway, dragging its own foil behind it, fingers in its mouth. "I scared," the tremulous voice had said, in the distance. "I stay with Day?"_

_There'd been a drowsy grumble from Starscream – he had a vague impression of his commander having been recharging in a chair in the corner, feet propped on the table – and a grunt of effort at getting back to his mismatched feet. "Come on, then. But if you're not a good little femme, and go and wake him up, I will _personally_ see to it you stay in your own berth next time!"_

_"I always good," she reminded, as he scooped her up. _

_"I noticed," Starscream replied, drolly, using his dry _I'm-only-humouring-you_ voice, and set her down just behind his wingmate's wings. "Although to be honest, right now he probably wouldn't wake up even if you sounded your beeper right in his audios. And no, that wasn't an excuse to try it."_

_There was a rustle and Skywarp shifted involuntarily so his sparkling could climb her way up under his wings. Her tiny spark came up close to his, and her diminutive static envelope harmonised with his much stronger one; goodnight, Button._

She hadn't stirred, yet – he ran his fingers thoughtfully over her winglets, and wondered if he'd ever been this small. Somewhere in the distant – correction, very, _very _distant past, maybe. Frag, it was hard to imagine _any_ of his trine being _small_ and _cute_.

He curled his back and grumbled, trying to stretch a bit of the tension out of his overwound servos. At least, he consoled himself, his diagnostics hadn't misinterpreted an overfill and purged anything while he'd been labouring through his enforced defragment. Thank Primus for small benefits. Cleaning _that_ up would have been, like, the last straw. Yuck.

He swung his feet off the edge of the berth and stood-… correction, slumped to the floor, unsteadily. While half his motor relays had gone stiff and tight while he'd been offline, the other half had relaxed beyond the point of being able to support his considerable bulk. Wrinkling his nose in concentration, he managed to tighten his actuators enough to get back to his feet. He stood swaying for a second or two, ensuring he wouldn't go flat on his face, before finally leaning down and prodding Footloose in a winglet.

"Awning, Day," she greeted, although her vocaliser was still thick with bootup distortions, stretching her arms up to him.

"Hello, Button." He gathered her up off the berth. "How about we go see how Ama is today, hm?"

"See Ama," she agreed, tucking herself into her usual spot alongside his cockpit, already sounding brighter. "She better now?"

He hesitated. "Um… well, yeah, she may be. A little bit," he agreed, lamely – he winced at how pathetic he sounded, but Footloose seemed satisfied. Sufficiently satisfied, in fact, to sit patiently and 'look after the Oolies' while Skywarp went to investigate the situation.

He dithered outside for three whole breems; he wanted an answer, an explanation, wanted to know _where_ to divert his anger. Screamer was right – at the moment, he was tearing himself to pieces, trying to blame everyone except the one whose fault it actually _was_.

It was taking every last ounce of self-control – and Skywarp could never have been said to be particularly well-endowed with such a virtue – not to barge in and _shake_ an answer out of her. _What did they do to you?! What did they do to you _in my name_?!_ He already had a very good idea what Siphon _might_ have done – he'd added all the evidence together and come up with something that felt worryingly like 'two plus two equals four', not his usual 'five'. He knew Thundercracker had had a hand in it – _TC, how could you?_ – and the knowledge left him cringing and curling away inside. That their wingmate would be a smashed-up fragging _mess_ when they found him was seeming more and more likely, and yet-… and yet… it was hard not to feel _angry_ with him, too.

_Urrgh._ He let his forehead bump against the wall and fought to bury the black thoughts grinding around inside him like a chunk of broken clockwork. Things were so much easier when he could let the other two do all the deep thinking and listening to consciences. _You know it's not his fault (TC, how could you?) it was Siphon and his chemical trickery (you could have resisted him, TC) and he's only doing it to get at you (and succeeding). So pull yourself together, Skywarp. You're strong (pathetic), you've survived (barely) Megatron's rule and you're going to win this (some hope of __that__, you whiney loser!)_

Although he couldn't make out the words very well – was deliberately not enhancing his hearing because he wasn't sure he _wanted _to – he could hear the unfamiliar soft rasp that had replaced Pulsar's light voice, and the gentle rumble of Forceps' speech, and the delicacy the surgeon was using in her dealings with the injured policebot was unsettling. The big femme usually had a somewhat scolding, irritable manner, so for her to be exercising such caution-…

He paced outside, a few steps each way. Maybe he'd be able to-… to _gauge the tone_ of the situation, if he dithered long enough. Starscream had said barging in and reminding her of things would be a bad thing. So – for once – he planned on doing what Screamer had advised; Primus, you knew it was getting pretty dire when _Starscream_ gave _good_ advice about a _relationship_.

…he jittered angrily outside, fists clenching and unclenching, and daydreamed about doing hideous things to little tankers.

0o0o0o0o0

In spite of the way Skywarp's quiet approach had an unfamiliar hesitance, the resonant _thok-_s of his footsteps had been immediately recognisable; the cylindrical thrusters made hollow noises where they struck against the floor. The only other one with the same sort of lower-leg was Starscream, and he still had a very lopsided gait with his mismatched feet.

Pulsar had been sitting propped against a foam wedge at the rear of the berth, partially upright, watching as Forceps worked; seeing the scuffed blue plating of her lower leg set to one side and the frayed cabling beneath no longer unnerved her as badly as it had done at the beginning of this whole ridiculous saga. Hearing Skywarp's footsteps, however, she had gone quiet, and was watching the doorway; her fingers had tightened on the edge of the berth, just in case she felt compelled to dive for cover. "Sounds like I've got a visitor," she observed, creakily.

"Mm-hmm. Good timing on his part, for once. Do you still want to do what we discussed earlier?" Forceps prompted. "If you've changed your mind, no-one will hold it against you, but now seems like a pretty good time to do it. He's probably straightened himself out enough to think as logically as he'll manage, and the sooner you get over this hurdle, the sooner we can think about how we proceed."

Pulsar dropped her gaze into her lap. "I don't know if I dare," she husked, quietly. "Don't think I'm brave enough."

"Well, you know it was Siphon doing it, Spark," Forceps reminded, gently, using a soft brush to clear the last of the sand out of the cabling around Pulsar's right knee. "You've even said you know Thundercracker wasn't responsible for what he did. You know it was all careful trickery." She glanced up at her. "I think if you keep all that in mind? You can do it."

Pulsar remained quiet. She knew the fear was mostly irrational, because she _knew_ it hadn't been Warp doing it, but she couldn't explain it. She just knew that she'd see him, and her mind would instantly go back to the indistinct dark blur looming above her, promising only unspeakable horror. Her fingers tightened, reflexively.

"I can't… I can't distinguish between them," she explained, at last, shakily. "I can think about him, and I know it wasn't him doing it. I think about him, I can _almost _make the distinction, in my mind's eye. He's just Skywarp, the eternal idiot." The cycle forced a smile, trying but mostly failing to make light of it. "…but then I _see_ him, _see_ the blur standing over me, and he's the same terrible shadow that did all those things-… and I know I'm not strong enough. I see him and-… and-... all I can see-… all I can _feel_… is…" She sat on her hand, to stop it shaking. "I see him and it's like it's all happening all over again. The memories come up and I can't stop them. And all I can think is how I don't want him near me, don't want him to _hurt_ me. And I _know _it wasn't him! I know that for once in his life he's actually innocent, but I remember the screaming and the pain and I just-… I can't do it. That tiny little logical part of me sees _him_, but my subconscious, my self-preservation, my memory… just sees a monster...

"Deep down, I knew what it all was. I knew none of it was real. I should have been stronger. Should have been… should have blocked it out." She studied her friend's blurry features and struggled to get them to resolve into focus. "What's happened to us, Sepp? I'm supposed to be some stupid little noisy Autobot with ideals above her station, when did I start to feel _sorry _for managing to break up the most lethal Decepticon trine to terrorise our airspace?"

"Since you let yourself be guided by your own experience and your own judgement, not let the 'guardians of society' dictate what you should feel from their safe distance."

Pulsar examined her broken fingers, and remained silent.

"You can't always control what your spark dictates, Pulse." Forceps grasped her friend's hand, and felt the smaller fingers thread between hers. "And nothing's ever as clear-cut as 'he's bad, he's good.' Decepticons come in every flavour from wholly evil to slightly imperfect to very, very confused, just like Autobots are sometimes 'good' only because their label says they're on the 'good' side."

"…but this is different-"

"Really?"

Again, the Policebot was silent. That she _wanted _to believe her friend was obvious in her manner, but that her emotions weren't going to let her was equally so.

"You could run through a million what-ifs, Spark, and never come to a resolution," Forceps counselled, softly. "And none of it will reset time to how it was before. You've been given a bad set of options; it's up to you to make the best you can of them." She managed a lopsided smile. "If the pair of you have somehow survived through the worst of the war's atrocities this far, I think you can get through this, too."

"But how do I apologise? I know this whole mess is my fault, and I don't know how I can even begin to say I'm sorry. For hurting him. For tearing the three of them apart. If I'd been more careful, all this would be fine-"

0o0o0o0o0

Outside, Skywarp leaned his head against the wall. Her words echoed what was running through his own processor. _How do I start to apologise for getting everyone stuck in this? It's _my_ stupid mess. If we three had just kept to ourselves, we'd all still be together. Slag, if I'd killed the fragger properly, _none_ of this would have kicked off-!_

He was _just_ at the point of giving up and leaving when Forceps emerged from the doorway. "Skywarp?" she questioned, gently.

"S'okay, s'okay, I'm already leaving," he reassured, tiredly, waving his hands and backing up. "I can go poke Screamer instead, or something. You don't have to kick me out."

"Nono, hang about, don't go just yet-… She said she'd like to see you," Forceps corrected, quietly, catching a wingtip.

One brow slowly arched, as if its owner was attempting to gauge whether it was a trick. "…she does?"

"Mm-hmm." Forceps nodded. "And _now_ is probably the best chance you've got. Before she talks herself out of it again."

He shuffled his thrusters and left purplish scuffmarks. "…think she might?"

The surgeon nodded, sombrely. "I won't mince my words," she said, more quietly, to keep her patient from hearing. "I'd say… you've got a fifty-fifty chance of getting anything even remotely like a normal conversation out of her."

"And equal chance of her screaming the place down, I know," he agreed, grimly. "…uh, well. Okay. So… what do I need to _do_?"

Now was Forceps' turn to give Skywarp a careful look, trying to gauge whether he was being _serious_ or _sarcastic_. She decided – and hoped – it was 'serious', for a change. "Keep absolutely calm, and keep your distance from her unless she invites you closer," she instructed, bluntly. "And if I think you even _smell_ like you're going to start to make angry noises and demand to know what's been going on… Well, let's just say that if you value your mobility, you'll behave yourself."

He pouted, unhappily. "Sepp, that's really-… I don't know if-..."

Her face relaxed a little, sympathetically. "I know it's going to be difficult for you," she soothed. "And I know 'gentle' has never been the Decepticon _modus operandi_. But if you just _try_, you might find that it's easier than you thought. All right?"

"Small hope of _that_," he grumbled, sourly. He hesitated in the doorway and glanced back, hoping for reassurance, but Forceps had already elected to give him some space and moved away.

He cycled cool air, to steady his systems, lowered the gain on his hearing, and took the last step across the threshold-

It was the first time he'd got a good look at Pulsar without her thermal blanket wrapped like a cocoon around herself, or her shrieking loud enough to destabilise his hearing. A narrow length of fabric had carefully been wrapped around her head, covering her optics and removing the last of any ability to see. It _did_ seem to be keeping her calm, at least; she turned her face in his direction and listened to the slow _thuds_ of his footfalls on the padded floor, and although she tensed, hands trembling, she didn't instantly start to shriek. She was still filthy – still scuffed to those pale gingery greys – and maybe it was his imagination, but did she look a teeny tiny bit better? Yeah, so okay, it probably _was_ his imagination… but at least it brought with it a spark of optimism. If Squeaks could get over it, so could TC, right? _Primus, if I only ever ask one more thing of you, let TC be okay._

He took it all in, slowly, before trusting himself to speak – all the way from the missing parts and broken plating to the scrawls of insulting graffiti across her chest, and the Cybertronian for 'whore' that had been hacked into her shoulder, where it had once read 'Police'. The dark paint transfers across her torso were what made anger clench like constricting fingers into his chassis, strangling pumps, choking off fuel-lines. He struggled to maintain the calm exterior he'd been instructed to use by Forceps; his hand, hidden down by his side, had flexed into a fist hard enough to damage an actuator.

"Hey, Squeaky," he managed, at last, thinly, struggling to keep his voice even.

Her lips moved, but she had to reboot her vocaliser before the words would come, and even then they were little more than a feeble scratch of fright. "…h-hey, Warp."

"Are you all-" …_right, yeah, stupid question_. "… uh, that is… what's with the, uh…" He waved his hand around his head, vainly, then twigged that she wouldn't be able to see him. "The, uh, head-ribbony thing?"

"Just a precaution." She forced a smile. "Didn't… didn't want to… overload your audios, again… or… something…"

The reluctant words dribbled away to nothing for an uncomfortably long time; both knew the other was probably frantically looking for something to fill the silence.

"Listen, I'm sorry I dragged you into this-" Both started at once, stopped in exactly the same place and looked surprised for a second or two, then laughed, startled. Thankfully, the uneasy little twitter of laughter _did_ work to break the tension a little.

"I'm serious," Pulsar found her vocaliser first. "I'm sorry. If I'd been watching who was following me, you'd never have got dragged into this-"

"And if I'd took better care of things, he wouldn't have been there to follow you in the first place," Skywarp argued. "Screamer's right, this is my stupid fault, and I-... I guess... I mean..." He rebooted his voice to clear the blockage. "...I'm sorry."

Another beat of silence passed. "…we could play the blame game until the stars burn themselves right out of the sky," the cycle commented, softly.

"Yeah, and it's wearing me out," Skywarp quipped, grimly; both knew he was referring to his earlier drunken outburst. "Listen, uh... You think you could handle having Lucy in here for a bit? The little one's been going crazy out there, trying to get in to see you. She's driving Screamer nuts."

"I think I could, for a little while," Pulsar agreed, reluctantly, and managed to force out a little smile. "She's taking after Day in more ways than one, then…?"

Skywarp managed a more genuine snort of amusement. "Pit, she's _exhausting_, isn't she?"

"You'll have to get Sepp to give you her sparkling-care secrets. She makes it look easy and they actually _behave_ for her-" Pulsar could sense him coming closer; she could hear his awkward shuffly footsteps, and feel the prickle of his static field against her own. She tolerated him getting closer until he was within arms reach, before her sense of self-preservation decided it couldn't stand it any more. "And-… uh, and-… I-I mean-…" Her voice was going shaky again, staticky, and she finally blurted the words out in a rush. "Primus, Skywarp, I'm sorry, but could you move back?"

He felt something tighten in his chest – he wasn't sure if it was anger or an unfamiliar concern – but did silently as told, trying to keep his voice even and relaxed like Forceps had said. "Is this better?"

Now there was space between them again, a little of the femme's shaking eased.

"Listen, I'm going to get him," Skywarp said, quietly. "For everything he did to you and TC. I'm not gonna let him sit back and laugh at me."

"…I'm glad you're angry with the right person," Pulsar observed, quietly. "I was scared you'd be angry with TC."

_Oh if only you knew. Frag it, TC, why'd you have to go and make things complicated?_

"It's exactly what Siphon wanted," she went on. "It's why he made him do-"

"Oh, hey, no, don't," Skywarp interrupted, hastily, waving his hands and only just resisting the urge to grab her. "No, Pulse, I don't want you to think you've gotta tell me. I don't want to look at _you_, and-… or look at TC and… think of him… doing… _things_. To you." He lurched across the words. Felt like something had dug crampons in around his spark and was gradually loading lead weights onto the hooks. "At least, not right now. I want to stay mad at Siphon. Don't want to get mad at anyone who doesn't, you know… actually _deserve_ it."

She actually managed a tiny fragment of a smile, in spite of the topic of conversation. "He was holding it together really well, you know?" she rasped, listening to the approaching chirps of an excited sparkling out in the main medical bay. "Being strong for all of us."

Skywarp caught Footloose in passing, before she could fling herself bodily at her dam. "That's… good," he agreed, lamely, over the little femme's unintelligible squeaking, and hoped his wingmate would have enough momentum to keep him sane until they worked out how they were going to get him out.

0o0o0o0o0

_…why does it always have to be so dark down here? Under all this rock and dirt and cold constricting crushing weight. I wish they'd let me see the sky again. Even just put a little screen up for me to look at. I wish they'd let me _fly_ again… poor wings. Ow, poor wings. Why do they always ache these days? They're the same as they were when I arrived, but they hurt again. Stupid wings. Stupid Megatron. Stupid Siphon. Please let me out?_

Time ground past like a tide of old motor oil, and Thundercracker spent most of his time in a hazy dreamworld, reliving better memories. His first clumsy (but oh! so _good_) flight. Joking with his wingmates – temporarily forgetting the war existed. Soaring in the endless clear beautiful blue of a spring day – the only good thing this cursed mud-ball had to offer. Anything to keep his mind of the blackness creeping up around him. Black outside, black inside. Dead, decaying. Just good at hiding the necrotic bits.

Faithful Deuce was making sure he was getting his energon at regular intervals; just enough of that mucky brown poison to keep him functioning, but not enough to give him back the strength to do much aside from sit and doze and struggle to keep himself level. Thundercracker was attempting to partition tiny aliquots away in a backup tank – just in case the guard was ever relaxed enough for him to attempt a break for freedom – but it was slow going. Siphon was carefully tailoring each allowance to pretty much the absolute minimum he needed to keep out of stasis. At least, the Seeker consoled himself, Deuce was still allowed to bring it to him three-quarters of the time, he didn't have to also endure Siphon's tubes down his intakes – he got the feeling it was a kind of a punishment for the truck, as well, _look what you've done to him, you bipolar idiot_._ This is your fault for not getting all of them out._

The truck would pass over tiny snippets of information every now and then, if he could, but a slim collar glowed at his own throat, now, and Thundercracker got the impression that judging by its size, it probably contained monitoring devices rather than explosives. There was never much to report, though, and nothing that sounded like it wouldn't be permitted by Siphon. Slipstream was holding his own fairly confidently, and Pulsar had been found – still alive, thank Primus – and taken to safety, but no more contact from his exiled wingmates, yet. And the humans were still lurking at a respectable but suspicious distance; what _they_ were up to nobody seemed very sure, but Deuce quietly voiced the opinion they might be after Slipstream. He was trying to plot another escape, but Siphon wasn't giving him much space to maneouvre behind the scenes, any more.

Thundercracker was half-dozing, running through a pleasant daydream of escaping and getting back to Cybertron's beautiful big skies, when voices in the background in the often-deserted control room attracted his attention. Sounded like… could it be-

"Starscream." Megatron's voice filtered through the glass; Thundercracker didn't really want to listen, but felt his attention drawn, regardless. Maybe it would be an update. Maybe it would be a good thing. Maybe it would be a way out. "I wanted to do you a deal."

"A deal?" familiar nasal tones scratched back, disinterestedly. "I'm quite sure you have nothing _I_ could possibly want."

"Not even a cease-fire? I give you the opportunity to go away in peace, if you come and remove your Primus-damned angst-ridden brother?"

Beat. "…okay, you've got my attention. Where's the catch?"

"No catch. He's depressing my loyalists," Megatron growled. "I don't want him here any more. He's _your_ trinemate, _you_ come take him away. Remove him, and you have my solemn vow I'll leave you in peace."

Thundercracker winced, subtly; surely Megatron was exaggerating? But-… _please, Screamer, make the deal. I don't care if you chew on my audios for the next Vorn, just come get me._

"Oh _please_," Starscream's voice cut through the wall like the shriek of diamonds down glass. "What would we want _him_ back for? Have you _seen _what he's done to this little family cluster of idiots?"

Thundercracker leaned forwards in his bonds, alarmed. No, there had to have been a mistake-!

"If his name alone can send the femme into a fit of screaming, what will _seeing_ him do to her?" the red Seeker went on. "The sparkling spends all her time hiding from invisible monsters, and Skywarp is going right off the rails through the stress of having it all fall apart around him. The only reason we could possibly want that blue moron back would be to kick the bolts out of him." There was a dismissive snort. "You fought to get that worthless heap of tin so bad, _you _keep him."

Intangible pain shot through his spark, and his mutilated wings suddenly began to ache. _No. No. I didn't break up our trine, I didn't. They always say I'm the glue that holds us together! Voice of reason, voice of sanity, clarity. _

"Surely I can persuade you somehow," Megatron wondered.

"Yes. Give back the little one and I'll _consider_ it."

The gravely voice chuckled, humourlessly. "No deal."

"Then _stop wasting my time, _Megatron. The fragger's outlived his usefulness. Melt him down for a throne-room trophy, I don't care."

Thundercracker jerked frustratedly at his wrists, threw his whole weight behind the manacles, but they just jangled, despairingly. He knew that even at peak strength, he'd not have succeeded in breaking them.

"Megatron-! I want to speak to him!" he shrieked at the dispassionate purple walls. "Oh Primus _please_, just let me talk to him…! Just let me talk to him-!" His voice fractured at the end of the sentence, dissolved into static. "…please?"

0o0o0o0o0

Out of sight and audio range in the main control room, Megatron gave Siphon a tired glower. "Don't you think you're overdoing it very slightly? I only want him to think he's unwanted enough to rejoin the ranks, not to collapse into a shivering heap of plating that's fit for _nothing_."

Siphon coughed up the vocal modulator that had temporarily given him Starscream's glass-etching tones, and bowed. "Only making sure your soldiers remember their place, Mighty Megatron."

"The benefit _you_ get from totally psychiatrically destroying them is nothing to do with it, of course."

"Of course not!"

Megatron narrowed his optics. "Just be sure you remember what we're trying to do here. I would like all three back and _functional _by the end."

The tanker flared up, boldly. "Hey, now! You said _I_ could have Skywarp," he snapped. "That was the _bargain_. Starscream and Thundercracker will just have to learn to work as a pair. Or a quartet, if you get both the younglings." He bared his denta. "If there's anything left when I'm done with him, you can have Skywarp back."

Megatron bristled and leaned down closer to the smaller mech. "Let it be known," he growled, softly, "that I don't like your tone, Newcomer."

Siphon backed off, startled optics going bright with alarm, lifting his hands. "Of course. Of course," he stammered, remembering who he was talking to. "Please, forgive me."

Megatron elected not to qualify the apology with a comment; merely glared down his hawkish nose and turned away into the corridor, to find one of his layabout loyalists to do a job for him. The sounds of riot emerging from the small galley were _not_ inspiring the greatest confidence.

He arrived to find Dirge thrashing in Ramjet's grasp, struggling to free himself, while Thrust bubbled with badly-controlled snickers and made himself completely ineffectual at hanging onto his wingmate's other arm. The trio were supposed to have been 'sparksitting' – their charge sat and watched silently from his perch on the top of a computer console.

"I _swear_, I'm gonna shoot it if it doesn't quit staring at me!" Dirge flailed his arms in his trinemates' restraining grip. "I don't care _what_ the Pit makes it 'special', it's freaking me out!"

"What precisely is going on here?" Megatron growled, and Thrust hastily swallowed his laughter.

"Er, uh, well, Boss…" Ramjet started, before Dirge cut in over the top of him.

"That Primus-damned mini-Skywarp is freaking me out!" the blue Conehead explained, as if it needed clarification. "It's so frickin' quiet! It just _stares_ at me!"

Megatron gave the sparkling a curious look, and Slipstream offered a very carefully-serious look in return. The youngster seemed to have cottoned on to the fact that he was valuable and thus unlikely to be damaged. Had a sense of self-preservation equal to his sire's, obviously – as in, said self-preservation seemed rather _lacking_. Push one's luck as far as it would stretch and hope not to be caught in the recoil when the rope snapped.

"Well, Dirge, you're in luck," the tyrant growled, turning his attention back to his whining soldier. "I need someone to deliver a parcel for me…"

0o0o0o0o0

Most machines at the _Ark_ had strong suspicions of what was in the parcel long before Red Alert even let anyone – Seekers included – venture out to pick it up, let alone open it. ("Honestly, what's _wrong_ with you lot?! It could be a _bomb_! Wait until I've scanned it, fraggit!")

The box itself hadn't gone via the standard postal channels. Dirge had swept down very low across the top of the _Ark_, his engines pitched at their most sweetly unnerving, and simply dropped it into the dust. Once he'd vanished from the Autobot base's sensor sphere, and Red Alert had finished his little panic attack, Skywarp went out and collected it, resisting temptation to open it until he'd reached the safety of the medical suite and could palm responsibility off on Ratchet.

Forceps and a newly-repaired and pleasantly symmetrical Starscream joined the little group assembled around the berth to examine the box. Skywarp subtly closed the gap between himself and his wingmate enough to touch wings, and for once the red Seeker didn't shove him away. It was subtle, and even Jazz missed it, but it was probably as public as they'd make the admission of a need for closeness and comfort.

…the contents wasn't anywhere near as gruesome as an entire body part, but the ragged little chips of blue armour – some of which were discoloured with smears of sloppily-applied black paint – were just as eloquent. The note – buried in the same glittery, decorative paper – was short, and to the point. _You know my terms. Expect the same every three Terran orns until I get it. S._

Silence hung heavy and cloying over the little group for a full breem; not even Jazz seemed willing to break it.

"All right, Siphon has the upper hand right now, correct? So… what if," Forceps wondered, at last, very slowly, as if weighing up each individual word before vocalising them; "…we were to go along with some of his requests, and… 'bait him out', as it were…?"

While Starscream's expression was growing slowly darker, Skywarp's was improving. "Yeah!" the teleport agreed. "Once we know how he's getting in and out of the place, I can follow him in, and spring TC from wherever he's keeping him."

"And what happens when _you_ get caught?" Starscream challenged. "How are we going to 'spring'_ you_ from the place?"

"I'd love to hear _your _idea that's _obviously _so much better."

"No offence, Skywarp," Jazz spoke up, carefully turning one of the chips end over end in his fingers, "but I agree with Starscream."

Skywarp pouted, miffed.

"Trust me. From experience, I can tell you that getting _in_ is the easy half the problem. Once you're in, you're going to have to somehow sneak about without being seen, find your brother, and get him _out_, probably injured, without them catching you."

Skywarp looked fairly well deflated. "…I'll just be quiet, then."

"You _will_ need to know how to get in," Jazz clarified, trying to salvage a little of the dark Seeker's prior enthusiasm. "You just need a way to get _Siphon_ and his allies out of the immediate vicinity _first_."

"Like a distraction?"

Jazz nodded. "What does Siphon particularly want?"

Skywarp made a face. "Me."

"…as well as you."

Forceps gave Starscream a long, probing look before speaking, knowing he was thinking the exact same thing that she was, but hoping no-one would venture it. "He wants someone small and dark with green eyes, as I recall. I think I can make the necessary arrangements-"

"Oh, no, Sepp, no nonono." Starscream waved his hands, urgently. "That is such a bad idea I can't even begin to quantify it!"

"Why not? We don't have to hand her over-"

"There is _no way _we should be bowing to his demands! And no way should we be letting that-… that… _treacherous, treasonous little backstabber_ out of prison!"

Every optic in the room turned immediately to stare at him.

"…and you lot can stop being so sanctimonious, as well," he groused, and folded his arms.

"Well… I know you're gonna shout at me for it, but I think it's a good idea," Skywarp confessed, in a little voice. "He's got all the cards, at the moment."

"He's very much got the upper hand," Jazz agreed. "We need to throw him off balance, first and foremost! The instant he loses the advantage he's got over us, the instant we've got an opening. And Cali might just be what we have to use to get it."

"This should be the absolute most last resort we even contemplate," Starscream protested. "If he manages to _get_ Cali, _then_ we have _no_ opening."

Skywarp gave him a sad look. "Screamer? This _is_ the last resort," he observed, quietly. "If we don't do something, and do it _now_, he's gonna kill TC and deliver him back to us in a hundred tiny bits."

Starscream studied his newly matching feet, and closed his fingers into frustrated fists. He was silent for several long moments, fully aware of the array of optics waiting for his move. "…All right," he sighed, and clarified, irritably; "All right. I'll consider myself overruled. But let it be known that I do _not _like this idea, not one tiny bit. I know it's going to go direct to the smelter. But equally? No. We haven't got anything else." He ran the pad of his thumb over one of the pieces of broken blue plating, almost tenderly. "Sepp, if you make the arrangements, Jazz and I can try and formulate a plan…"


	24. Chapter 23

**Warped - Chapter Twenty Three  
**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** More lovely art linked in my profile. :)

...I has a cold and my brain hurts. I apologise for any typos. You'll all be relieved to hear I'm getting close to the end for this one. ;) If you watch my LiveJournal you'll probably already know I do have ideas for a third story, titled "Future Tense", but I'm planning on leaving that one until _after _"NaNoWriMo" - trying to keep two stories on the go led to my miserable failure last year. ;)

Anyway. Thank you all again for your reviews. :) And now onward...

* * *

-_Hey, Starscream? This is Vantage. Just got a heads-up for you. I think you've got visitors on the way-_

_-...You just _let _them through, Vantage? I'd love to hear you wiggle your way out of trouble when Megatron finds out-_

_-Hey, talk about self-preservation, you should see the size of some of 'em. I wasn't gonna argue with 'em! Let Shocky take the flak for letting them get onto the bridge in the first place, I say. Anyway, consider yerself informed. I got more important things to be doing than chatting with you all day-_

_-Of course, all that porn you have stashed around the place won't ogle itself, will it?-_

-_…couldn't possibly comment on that. Vantage out-_

0o0o0o0o0

Skywarp met his commander's gaze over the top of the table. "News?"

Starscream nodded. "Communication on our secure waveband, from Vantage-"

"Whoa, hey, wait, you gave _that_ slacker our personal frequency?" Skywarp straightened, with an offended pout.

Starscream glared at him until it became clear his wingmate wasn't going to back down, before answering. "How else did you expect me to get information off him, Skywarp? Get him to go through the normal channels on _Nemesis_?"

Skywarp muttered something under his breath, but let it drop. "What did he have to say, anyway, need us to send him the latest issue of _Playbot_?"

Starscream didn't even tell him to grow up, for once, merely bounced a stylus irritably off his helm. "Actually, no. Our visitors are on their way, and should be with us in a dozen or so breems."

Skywarp brightened. "You mean we're going to get to go tanker-hunting _at fragging last_?"

Starscream gave him a look, but didn't vocalise what he was thinking. His wingmate was the most animated he'd seen him in orns, and that was… well, worrying. Skywarp didn't do well with deep thinking and heavy emotions, much more of this and he'd probably burn out his master fuseboard. The sooner they got this smeltery over and done with, the better.

They were expecting him, Starscream discovered, when he finally fended Skywarp off for long enough to get to Teletraan. Jazz gave him an inscrutable look and nod of greeting as he arrived, but remained silent.

Prowl was a little more forthcoming. "We just registered an, ah… _something…_ come through the space bridge," he commented, glancing up. "Something _large_. I don't suppose anyone here would know about that?" The expression on his face was clearly an invitation for Starscream to elaborate, but the Seeker just returned with an exaggeratedly modest smile and inclined his head.

Red Alert was already fidgeting, making pecking little back and forth strides behind Prowl's chair. "Maybe we should go and check it out. Just see what it is. Just until we can get that satellite footage off the humans." He shot Prowl a dirty look. "I _told_ you we should have left Sky Spy to keep an eye on it. I _told _you Megatron could be up to _anything _when our optics were off the target-"

"Sky Spy had more important things to monitor," Prowl demurred. "The goings-on in Egypt, for one. Additionally… I have a fairly strong suspicion that I – and certain guests – might know what this is."

The machines present followed his gaze to the doorway, where Starscream was trying not to look _too_ suspicious.

"Would I be right in thinking this is, ah… our 'secret weapon' being delivered?" Prowl went on, carefully, and there were more exchanged glances and one brief nod.

Red Alert almost blew a fuse. "You're _letting _them bring _weapons_ from Cybertron, now?" he raved, infuriated. "Have you taken leave of your sanity?!"

"Its all right," Prowl soothed. " 'Secret weapon' is more of an… exaggeration, if you like. It's not exactly a weapon in the traditional sense."

"And you _trust_ him? He could have had _anything_ sent through the space bridge!" Red Alert stabbed a finger at Starscream in a violent point. "Even as a so-called _Neutral _he's still as untrustworthy as he was before! Probably moreso, now he thinks our attention is elsewhere! The only thing that makes him _different_ from before is the fact his wings have no insignia-!"

"Red, Red…" Prowl interrupted, putting up his hands in surrender. "All right. Just… let me explain, then you can blow a gasket afterwards. I'm sorry we didn't inform you earlier, but we thought that the fewer people knew, the fewer chances it'd have to go wrong…"

"You know? For once I'm inclined to agree with your over-reactive security chief, because I still don't think this was such a good idea," Starscream observed, quietly, folding his arms defensively across his chassis and half-listening to Prowl's attempt at calming Red Alert.

"How so? I don't think the Autobots will be 'aching spark liberal' enough to fall for any lies Cali might try to feed them to get them to let her go," Jazz reassured. "Especially not given how most know of her history."

"That wasn't precisely what I meant," the jet clarified, shaking his head. "I mean… however careful we are organising this, there's still going to be far too many opportunities for it to go wrong."

"…like?" Jazz coaxed.

"Like-… well, Primus. There's a very strong possibility Siphon will succeed in actually getting his hands on her, which means Megatron will not only have that clever sociopath on his side, he'll have a talented chemist, too. Machines wouldn't know _which_ way to turn." Starscream huffed hot air from his vents and shook his head, studying his feet. "All Megatron would have to do is _hint _at _maybe_ releasing a new batch of Blue into the supply chain, and you'd have mass hysteria all over again – and with good reason! I know _I_ wouldn't be happy unless I'd thoroughly screened all and any energon for impurities before I intook it!"

Jazz remained thoughtfully quiet, mulling an idea over.

"The only way we could get around _that_ would be to not take Cali, and that defeats the object of having her brought here," Starscream went on, huffily.

"How about I have a word with her?" Jazz suggested. "Get her on board with us."

Starscream snorted, unimpressed. "To do _what_, exactly, Autobot? Persuade her to make a nice batch of Screaming Blue to give Megatron as a little gift in so-calle reconciliation?"

Jazz smiled and inclined his head, unruffled, stepping back out of the way so the first batch of curious new arrivals could get through the door and see what had triggered Red Alert's latest outburst. "Maybe not _just _yet," he acceded, amused. "I was thinking more along the lines of… well…What did she design Blue _for_? First and foremost? Because she's an unarmed little protoform, and the war made her scared, and she was defending herself the only way she knew how. And what has Siphon done?"

Starscream was already nodding. "He's turned himself into the exact thing she was most afraid of," he mused, out loud, and a slow smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth. "All right, I take that back. Maybe we _can_ use this, Autobot. And after everything he's done to _my_ wingmates, it'll be nice to reciprocate a little in kind."

Recalling who they had recuperating in the medical suite, Jazz found the Seeker's feral grin a little less unsettling than he felt he should have...

0o0o0o0o0

Skywarp was first outside to investigate the new arrivals, avoiding the crush in the doorway and simply teleporting himself to where he wanted to be. As he watched, the little cloud on the horizon resolved into a heavy police vehicle, decked out in white and a lurid chequerboard of dayglo-yellow and royal-blue squares, kicking up clouds of grit from the powerful anti-gravity emitters it cruised on in place of wheels.

It finally came to a halt a few strides away, and transformed to reveal a tall, sturdy-looking female that he _kiiind_ of recognised. There was something about those two silly little sensory boutons – he had a vague memory of someone calling them her "bunches" – on the back of her helm…

He didn't remember any of the femmes being quite so _big_, though – the biggest had been the two little twin inspectors, and they'd been lanky little grav-gliders. _This_ bruiser could have easily given Sepp a run for her money. He narrowed his optics and pinged an identity request at her, even as he probed her appearance for additional clues; she gave him a grin and wiggled the fingers of one hand in a wave, so presumably knew _him_.

He got his answer from three sources at once. In a remarkable stretch of imagination he noticed the number of stripes on her upper arm, and twigged that it might mean promotion and upgrade. His pingback gave a familiar set of identifiers that he recalled he'd worked with a few hundred orns ago-

The third answer came from Footloose. She'd followed him out, curiously, and spotted the newcomer. "Aunnie Vecks!" She promptly _hurled_ herself into an enthusiastic, traditional greeting maul.

"Oh no, I'm under attack!" 'Aunnie Vecks' intercepted her mid-strike and bowled her over, pinning her in the dirt. "Submit, you terrible monster!"

Footloose shrieked with laughter and kicked her feet in the air. "Nevah!"

Skywarp smiled triumphantly now he'd worked it out. "So _that there_ must be one half of Verity and Selector?" he suggested, listening to a familiar set of heavy footsteps approaching from behind.

"Celerity and Vector," Forceps corrected, dryly, giving him a swat around the back of the helm. "And _that_ is Vector."

He gave her a half-resentful look and rubbed his head. "They're twins, they won't care," he argued. "Besides, this way I get their names _half_ right _all_ the time."

Forceps cast her gaze despairingly skywards and shook her head, but didn't argue the point.

"Anyway, you _sure_ that's Vector?" Skywarp gave the approaching femme a very long, speculative look before announcing; "Because _Primus._ She's got… _huge_. She was a skinny little puff of nothing last time I saw her."

Vector arched a curious brow, boosting a squeaking Footloose up to her shoulder. "Are you calling me _fat_, Skywarp?"

"Pit, I wouldn't dare – you might sit on me!" he deadpanned, po-faced. "Promotion?"

"A little one," she confirmed. "Lara and me are jointly in charge of Quayside, now."

He grinned, and quipped; "I bet you still haven't escaped the curse of the name, though, Chief Inspector Vector."

"That's _Detective_ Chief Inspector Vector, to you," she growled, amusedly, and took a swing at him, which he skipped nimbly back out of the way of.

"No Hardline?" Forceps wondered, ignoring Skywarp's snerk of amusement.

"Nah, he's coming." The Policebot cast a look back over her shoulder, idly, in the direction she'd just come from. "Just… speedy as a brick, as ever."

"Bricks not speedy, Aunnie," Footloose explained, seriously, tugging her aunt's aerials. "Bricks not move."

"Why, you're right. How could I have got that wrong, Button?" Vector agreed, with an exaggerated horror that made Footloose giggle. "It's a good job you're here to make sure I get things right."

"Aunnie Larry not come?" Footloose questioned, leaning forwards just enough to meet Vector's optics without falling off her shoulder.

"Hmm? Nah, Lars is bringing up the rear with Hardline. She's looking after The Package. I was just the 'advance guard' to check for trouble – and found it, right Button?" She gave Skywarp a meaningful look before adding; "Pulsar's flock of idiots are with them, too."

"How many do you think we _need_, here?" the teleport wondered, dryly, looking past her shoulder towards the new dustcloud building on the horizon.

"Pssh." The femme waved a hand. "You try holding them back _and_ getting past Shockwave. I know _I_ don't have enough arms…"

Ratchet hrm-ed in reluctant satisfaction once they'd opened the channel to him. "Calibrator's got through safely? Good. Bring her down to Medbay as soon as she arrives," he instructed, . "She might be a prisoner but that doesn't mean she deserves to be mistreated, and I want to check she's in optimal health before you start dragging her off to foreign lands."

"Oh, no problem there, doctor," Vector reassured, cheerily. "We were careful, she's not got a scratch on her."

"That's as may be, I still want to check her over."

Vector exchanged a glance with Skywarp, who shrugged, non-committally. "…er, ok. You're the doctor-"

"Why that's right, so I am," came the shocked observation. "You know, if someone didn't remind me every so often? I'd _completely forget_ – the amount of _thanks_ you ingrates all give me for it."

"Is he always like that?" the police van wondered, once the connection had closed and she'd picked her jaw back up off the floor.

Skywarp made a face. "I'm not gonna say anything because it'll only get back to him, and I don't want to turn into target practice again."

Perhaps wisely, Vector elected not to comment, instead watching quietly as the rest of the group finally arrived.

At the very rear of the crowd was the heavyweight; a blocky, heavily-armoured machine that looked like it must have weighed as much as both the big femmes together. The massive vehicle deactivated its powerful gravity jets and set itself to the ground before transforming, revealing a pale, broad-chested giant. Soft azure optics scanned the crowd, briefly, before spotting what their owner wanted-

At first, there was a ripple of alarm that the giant maybe intended harm towards someone, the way his face was set in a serious frown and he strode single-mindedly forwards as if no-one existed, in Skywarp's direction… He ignored the Seeker, though, going straight for Forceps, wrapping both big arms tight around her, and letting his cheek rest against her head, rumbling his engine softly. "Don't you ever, _ever_ do that to me again," he scolded, relievedly.

"Anyone would think you missed me," she commented, dryly, but it was a fact not lost upon anyone that she seemed to be holding back just as tight.

"I was _sure _you were dead."

"You were nearly right. I gave Megatron's Coneheads some target practice."

"If the two of you are _quite _finished…" a voice cut in, irritably. "Screamer's nagging me that he wants to get the next part over and done with, asap."

They turned to find Skywarp exaggeratedly tapping his foot, arms firmly folded, and channelling his commander, if his glower was anything to go by.

"Anyone would think he's jealous," Hardline commented, in a stage whisper.

"Pfft, don't flatter yourselves." The teleport flapped a dismissive hand, and jerked his head towards the _Ark_'s main entryway, suggesting they should follow him. "I just value my audios…"

Of the crowd following the Seeker down the corridor, Celerity was the only one to remain untransformed; like Vector, she was a heavy, boxy police van, grills over her windows, decked out in the same vibrant blue-and-yellow battenburg everyone else wore. She followed on quietly behind; soft, irritable murmurings could be heard within, but they didn't seem to be coming from the policebot herself…

"Right, Lars; let's get this over and done with," Vector suggested.

Celerity gave a click of nonverbal agreement, and popped her doors open, obediently. A small black shape _lunged_ out – not for freedom, though, it went straight for Starscream.

The red jet caught it by the upper arms, and it revealed itself to be a hissing, kicking, spidery-looking dark-coloured femme with huge green optics. His grip around her shoulders kept her clawed, spidery-fingered hands securely out of reach, but her small feet were free and thrashed angrily at his abdomen.

"Well well, if it isn't my old friend Calibrator," the red Seeker deadpanned, keeping the analyst at arms reach so her flailing feet couldn't _quite_ impact his paintwork. "How's life in the psychiatric unit treating you, hmm? They still hiding your sedatives in your energon, or are you taking it of your own volition like a good little femme, at last?"

That made her even _more _incensed. She shrieked inarticulate static at him, as if determined to make up in _noise_ what she couldn't achieve in violence.

He endured it for a moment or two before sighing, melodramatically; he did a quarter-turn… and dunked her in Perceptor's fish tank. The shrieking static turned very rapidly from crackling fury to simmering bubbles of fright; she scrabbled her dark fingertips across the restraining blue forearms, but succeeded only in throwing water (and fish) all over the decking.

Footloose squeaked in alarm and gathered the fish up in a convenient empty bucket. "Ausep, Ausep! Oolies need water!" She thrust the container in Forceps' direction, who carefully extracted it from the small hands and filled it with water, setting it back on the floor where the agitated sparkling could get to it. The semi-spheroid _uulu_s looked… well, not _dead_, but certainly not _healthy_; Footloose set the bucket down in the circle formed by her little legs and hummed hopefully at them.

"Look, you can either _behave,_ or you can _flood your temperature regulator_," Starscream growled, darkly, ignoring the clicking sparkling. "We don't need you that badly. Either option is acceptable. To be honest, _drowning you_ would be _preferable_, because that way you can't play a double or triple game with anyone."

She thrashed under his hands, but her kicks were weakening and the bubbles that streamed up from her vents were beginning to run out.

"Are you going to behave yourself?" he repeated, grimly.

One last bubble quivered to the surface, and there was the feeblest of nods – defeated. Her feet sagged, pathetically.

Satisfied, he yanked her out of the tank and upended her, casually, holding her by her small ankles; water cascaded over the floor. Her fans made a hideous crackling, barking noise as surplus fluid vented away over them, but judging by the way her optics blazed a furious acid green she wasn't _that_ badly damaged. Just… humiliated.

"I won't bother asking if you're going to mop all that up," Ratchet deadpanned, in the background, but was ignored.

Starscream deposited her gracelessly down on the closest berth, where she sat in a spreading puddle and coughed and hacked to get all the water off her vents. "One of these days I _will _get my hands around your spark-casing," she swore, unsteadily. "And when I do-…"

A towel hit her square in the face. Startled into silence, she looked up to find Skywarp leering at her.

"How about you just quit dripping?" the teleport sniped.

She narrowed her optics into a glare, but decided not to argue – they might take the towel _back_. Sulkily, she began mopping herself dry.

Down on the floor, Footloose looked up from her bucket, at last, and gave Starscream a reproachful glare. "Sta'zim not to make Oolies go on floor," she said, wagging a finger, accompanied by snickering from certain Autobots in the background. She stood and lifted the bucket, making a noise of effort at the unexpected weight, and tottered three unsteady steps towards the sideboard, sloshing water.

Starscream cast his gaze skywards, and picked her up by the scruff in one hand, her bucket in the other. "Well, you better put them back in their tank before they end up on the floor again," he instructed, dryly, setting her down on the worktop, and watched (with a badly disguised amusement) as she carefully placed each one in the tank and examined it minutely for damage before reinstating the next.

"Oolies happy?" the sparkling wondered, flickering her optics, once the handful of _uulus_ were securely back in their optimised environment, and they all crowded to the front and flickered back, so that must be all right. Oolies were none the worse for their misadventure. Now, on to more important things! Footloose gave a determined little click and _launched_ herself off the shelf to finally say hello to Celerity.

"No Thundercracker?" the big femme wondered, disappointedly, at last getting a chance to look around, examining the room's current population while Footloose clambered to her shoulder and treated her to a belated-but-no-less-enthusiastic flurry of clicks and cheekrubs.

"No. Why do you think we were so concerned to get Calibrator here? She's, ah… our bargaining chip." Starscream gave her a narrowed-optics look. "…besides, why does it matter to you?"

The big femme averted her gaze, blue optics going a hot cyan-white, and Vector snorted amusement and elbowed her twin in the chassis.

Starscream shook his head and rolled his optics, adding two and two and getting to a very obvious four. "Never mind."

An uneasy sort of quiet descended while Ratchet satisfied himself (in laborious detail) that the Secret Weapon was in good health and functioning normally. When Starscream was finally allowed back in to find her, to inform her of their plans, Calibrator was standing alone at the side of the medical suite, watching silently through the window into the side room.

The fallen air commander felt a momentary flash of concern that some idiot _had _given her free run of the _Ark_, after all, then noticed the analyst's hands were firmly cuffed in front of her and there was a stasis collar at her throat, which was probably keyed to kick in the instant she stepped over the infirmary threshold into the corridors. So she was free, but sorely restricted in where she could actually _go_. That was a relief.

He drifted up behind her, quietly, and acquainted himself with what she was looking at. Of course, Pulsar. The two femmes had (supposedly) been close friends, when both were employed in Deixar police station, until Calibrator had betrayed everyone so dramatically.

"Guilty conscience?" he wondered, softly.

She glanced briefly sidelong and met his chilly gaze. "Didn't know you cared, Decepticon," she sniped, and wrinkled her lip. "Oh, _sorry_. You aren't any more, are you?"

He gave her a 'friendly' clap on the shoulder that almost sent her sprawling. "Watch your manners, femme. I can engineer nasty 'accidents' just as easily as you used to," he chuckled.

She tottered on one leg for a moment before recovering her balance, then straightened and puffed out her scrawny chassis, as if to make up for the few new scuffmarks on her pride.

"For your information? This is bothering Warp," the red Seeker explained, in that quietly threatening tone of voice he did so well. "And because it's bothering _Warp_, it's bothering _me_. So in a roundabout way, yes; I do care – and you would do well not to challenge me over it."

She glanced up at him, and he was graced with the briefest glimpse of the genuinely scared little protoform hidden under the sneering disregard before the mask slipped back into place. "Got to keep a good grasp on all your possessions, of course," she observed, hollowly. "Far be it for anyone else to make a claim on your territory."

"Learn quickly, don't you?"

The analyst didn't reply; simply directed her attention back through the window, and tried not to feel guilty. Pulsar _had_ brought all this on herself, she consoled herself. If she'd not _betrayed_ her, she'd be living a comfortable and well-tended life as an advisor and confidant in the well-defended Codustral plant. So it was _her_ fault she'd made herself an enemy out of Siphon- Calibrator folded her arms across her chassis, defensively, hugging herself. The words felt… hollow. Insufficient to excuse what she could see.

The gravity bike – what was left of her – was sat propped against her wedge at the far end of the berth. She still wasn't repaired – far from it – but she was looking a fraction more normal than she had done. She had a brightly coloured cloth shawl slung asymmetrically across her shoulders to make it a little less obvious her arm was missing, and a cunning little piece of frosted plastic set with diffuse LEDs made her optics look almost normal again. Her plating was still a scuffed sort of beige and grey from the sandstorm, but the caked-on grime and the worst of the black graffiti was gone – a quick bit of epoxy paste had even covered up the engraved insults – so at least she was a _clean_ beige and grey. And the tiny machine that Calibrator had seen earlier, while recovering from her Starscream-induced near-death-experience, was snuggled into Pulsar's lap. Sparkling. That explained why it was so _small_, at least.

"Siphon did this to her?" Calibrator wondered, softly, at last.

Starscream watched her, carefully. "Yes," he confirmed. "Why? _Satisfied_, femme? Finally getting a sort of vicarious revenge on those poor idiots who dared to defy you?"

Calibrator gave him a dirty look. "I don't know what you think you can possibly know about my situation," she sniffed, snootily. "I was just trying to make the best of a bad situation."

"Oh _please_," Starscream scoffed. "If you're going to claim that you were the sweet, mistreated little innocent in all of this-"

"I'm shallow, yes," the femme cut in, sharply. "But not _that_ shallow. I _do_ regret that our friendship had to fail in the way it did. If she'd stayed on the Codustral payroll, I _would_ have continued to treat her like a friend. But _she_ broke my confidence!" She glared at him, as if attempting to bore holes in his fuselage with the heat of her gaze alone. "_She _betrayed _me_, so why should _I _have put my head in the mill for _her_?"

"Talk about betrayal, now here you are, helping us betray your own bondmate-"

"The fact we might have interfaced a few times doesn't make me _his property_," Calibrator snapped, and Starscream had to work hard at disguising a smirk, clearly having touched a sore spot. "We were happy, felt we needed a reward for a good job." She narrowed her glare and smiled, coolly. "If you must know, we were celebrating what we thought was _your_ demise."

The jet's self-satisfied smile turned sour and he lifted his chin, glared down his nose at her.

"Aside from that," she went on, more quietly, "it was meaningless. It was something to do, and it felt nice. Do I need to make it more significant for you?" She gave him a challenging stare. "For a Decepticon you're putting a lot of emphasis on _feelings _and _emotions_. You're not… jealous, perchance?" She ducked her shoulder and peeked up at him, exaggeratedly coy. "We did have a certain… how can I put it… _frisson_… in the lab, in Central Station."

Starscream quirked a brow, archly. "Don't flatter yourself," he snorted. "And it would seem Siphon thinks considerably more highly of you than you do of him."

Calibrator dropped her gaze and pursed her lips. "We were allies, that's all," she defended herself, quietly. "Not... not _lovers_, or anything as sentimental as that. He just... provided the muscle that I lacked, and I was a convenient intelligence he could use to further his own agenda."

"His gift for psychological torture was just an added bonus?"

"That's-… I mean…" She shuffled her feet. "It's not something I'm proud of."

"You'll forgive me for exercising caution in how far I _believe_ you."

She was silent, for a moment. "He's turned himself into everything that I worked to get rid of," she admitted, softly. "Blue was supposed to _calm_, to _control_. To _remove _violence. To make it _safe_, to make it…"

"Predictable?"

She looked up at him, attempting to gauge whether or not he was being cynical, and he actually seemed – _almost_ – to be sympathising. "To make it logical," she agreed, bluntly. "I was a chemist, not a tactician. I needed order and predictability in my life just to feel in control of _myself_. When the world around me all turned so… _insane_, with the war and everything…? I lost that – and Blue became the only option I could get to work."

"You lived in Deixar," Starscream corrected, softly. "The least important, least desirable and quietest district on the whole of Cybertron. The war hardly touched you. You could have holed up in Codustral and waited it out, _without _making an enemy of almost everyone there, if it was that worrying to you."

"Big words, coming from Megatron's finest," she sniped, cattily.

He smiled and inclined his head, modestly. "Don't take it out on _me _for being able to see through your lies, Cali."

"Not lies," she argued, sulkily. "Just… elaborations of the truth." She shuffled her feet, rumbled her vents in a sigh, and met his gaze. "All right," she agreed, beaten. "I'll help you. Just this once."

Starscream arched a brow – she guessed it was probably as close to an admission of surprise as she'd get out of him. "No special conditions?" he challenged, suspiciously.

Calibrator shook her head, glumly. "I'm angry at Siphon," she said, quietly. "For doing all this _in my name_, and for believing I would be appreciative and want to _join_ him. That's why I'm going to help you, and that's _all_."

0o0o0o0o0

Once the murmuring voices outside her door had finally departed, Pulsar allowed herself to relax. One had clearly been Starscream – no-one else had that glass-etching cadence – and one sounded _almost_ like… could it be Cali? She'd heard the rumours they were bringing her over, but until now hadn't really given them much credence. It didn't sound like Starscream's way of doing things, leaving himself vulnerable by "bargaining with terrorists", but maybe he'd been overruled.

It had been nice to get the opportunity to see her friends, at last, as well, although they left her feeling slightly… overwhelmed. A concerned clustering of blue and white blobs, all talking over each other in their urgency to find out how she was, and it had been a relief when they'd been called away by Prowl, for a debriefing. There were just… too many of them, all at once.

Peace had returned quite quickly. Footloose was curled in her lap, cheek pressed against her dam's chassis, humming a soft harmonic. Pulsar had attempted to hum back, but her shattered vocaliser couldn't produce the same pleasant sounds to harmonise with her, so instead she was purring her fans, just loudly enough to be heard.

"Why Ama not go see Day yet?" Footloose wondered, at last, gazing up at her parent.

"It's… complicated, Button," Pulsar replied, softly, straightening her sparkling's scuffed aerials. "There's… _things_…that make it difficult."

"Is all on own," Footloose pointed out, quietly.

"You can go and see him, if you want," Pulsar offered, with a smile. "I won't stop you."

"_Ama_ all on own," Footloose disagreed, dropping her gaze back to her fingers, and added, quietly; "Want Day to be with."

"Soon," Pulsar promised, evasively. "Just not right now." _Not when he still makes me feel like screaming._

The was enough to satisfy her sparkling, though. The little femme rubbed her cheek affectionately against her dam's chassis, then squeaked cheerfully in recognition and bounced out of her lap, teetering on the edge of the berth with her arms flapping – _notice meee!_ – before a big white and blue blob swooped in and intercepted her.

"Hey, Button. Still falling off things, huh?" a familiar male voice teased.

"Whitesides?" Pulsar guessed, unable to get her optics to focus.

"Hello there, sarge." Her fellow gravity bike gave her a silly salute. "Looking like you've been through the mill a few times."

"_Feeling_ like I've been through the mill a few times," she agreed, softly, watching as Footloose wriggled in her friend's arms, chirped greetings and rubbed cheeks with him. "I didn't think you were _all_ coming."

"Neither did we, at first," Whitesides confirmed, ruefully. "When it stopped looking very likely that they'd get past Shockwave on their own, we piled in to help." He parked himself behind her, touched his fingertips to the outside of her arm, and rested his chin very gently, very briefly on her bad shoulder. "Listen, Squeaky," he said, gently. "We're going to help you through this. Okay?"

She tensed up in his arms, uneasy at the close contact, but that was it.. Whether it was _familiarity_, or whether it was the fact they simply shared the same model, she didn't know – she just knew she didn't feel the need to hurl herself away from him, didn't have to offline her vocaliser just to keep from screaming. She'd shared a dorm with the mech for so many thousands of vorns – almost since the day they strolled off the production line together – and aside from the incident with the Blue, he'd always been very close to her.

She lifted her shaky hand to cover his fingers, and leaned her head against his. "Thank you, Whites," she rasped, quietly.

0o0o0o0o0

When Skywarp put his head around the door sometime the next morning, it was to find the sideroom's population had almost doubled. Longbeam and Surefire had joined the little group some time during the evening, and now all four former roommates were heaped up together on the same berth, so snarled in recharge cable it looked like it'd take them a good few breems just to untangle themselves. And – strangely – Pulsar was right at the middle of the protective muddle. He felt an unexpected pang of jealousy that she wouldn't go near him – make that, wouldn't even _look _at him – but was quite happy to clump together with _these_ three-

He squashed the needy little voice, annoyed. Stupid whiney stupid voice. Not as if it _mattered_ if she went near him or not, was it? She could abuse his audios just as easily from a distance, right? Right? He huffed quietly to himself.

Footloose wasn't one for 'sleeping in'; she'd already been awake – albeit drowsy – as part of the muddle of arms and legs, but upon seeing him she wiggled out from under Surefire's arm – the bigger femme barely even stirred – and tottered unsteadily over, her little arms up. "Awning, Day," she greeted, sleepily.

"Morning, you," Skywarp replied, amusedly, kicking the annoying whiney voice away and plucking the sparkling up off the floor. "All energised and ready to cause trouble?"

She giggled and butted heads. "I always good," she argued, clicking and rubbing cheeks.

"Yeah, like you keep reminding us," he agreed, boosting her up to her usual perch. "And you're sure good at _something_, but I'm not gonna say it's _behaving yourself._"

She made a noise and plopped down on his shoulders. "When Day and Ama be together again?" she wondered, dangling her feet either side of his neck.

"It's…" _Frag, how am I supposed to explain this_? "…complicated."

"Always complicated." Footloose folded her arms on the top of his helm and pouted, sullenly. "Ama said, Day said. Ska'fie said complicated with Unnol Sta'zim. Ausep said _all _complicated ever'where."

"Well, I figure Ausep's probably right." Skywarp rumbled his turbines in a sigh.

There was a very long pause, and when Footloose spoke again she had an anxious tone to her voice. "Day not like Ama?" she wondered, quietly. "Because not Decepticon? That why not go see?"

Eeeh, now _that_ was awkward. "Uhh-… well… not quite-…" It hurt to have to put the thoughts into words, and he wasn't even sure _why_. The root cause of most of these problems had been pretty evenly split between him and that silly little Autodork. "Ama's scared of me, Button."

"Why scared?" She peered at him, confusedly. "Day not do anything."

_Well, not personally. _"A bad mech hurt her, and used-… ah, someone that looked like me… to do it."

"Why they do that?" Footloose sounded hurt, and confused. "Why they do that, Day?

"Because they were angry, 'cause I did something to _them_, and they want to punish me for it."

"Don' understand."

"You will when you're older," he reassured, with a smile (even though he didn't feel like smiling).

"Want understand _now_," she sighed, but didn't pursue it. She was used to being told 'when you're older', and knew pursuing it wouldn't change the answer. "Miss Seem," she said, softly, slumping forwards over his helm and letting her arms dangle either side of his face. "When we go make rescue?"

"We?" he echoed. "I don't think there's gonna be any _we_ about it, squirt. You're staying here."

"But I come help," she elaborated, leaning further over his head and peering down at him.

"Oh no you don't; baad idea. Don't want you getting in trouble."

"Want to come help," she chased. "Am little, can get in places like where Seem am. Please?"

"I need you to look after Ama," Skywarp told her, firmly. "She'll be all on her own! You need to stay here."

Footloose made a staticky raspberry across her vents, but nodded agreement. "I look after Ama."


	25. Chapter 24

**Warped - Chapter Twenty Four  
**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** Thank you again to my reviewers. :) Sorry I'm making you wait so long between these things, I seem to end up doing about nine things at once these days and keep going off-track. :hrms: I did have a smidge more for this chapter (and I wanted to give TC some more airtime) but I found a good place to stop it. Hopefully that means it won't take so long to get the next chapter up.

Anyway. Hope this chapter is a bit better, even if it is another "talker". :shifty eyes:

**

* * *

**

_Look at you. _

_Look __at you. You filthy nonentity, squandering all the power and glory Primus gave you by chasing worthless chips of starshine. __Nobody wants __you__ back, you filthy monstrosity. _

_Why? It's not already obvious? You are the perfect example of everything that is wrong with your kind. Everything that is wrong with __fliers__, everything that is wrong with __Seekers__, especially everything that is wrong with the Screamer's __power-addled trine__. And you are the perfect example of everything that is wrong with Cybertron. Constantly reaching for things you cannot ever have, grubbing around like vermin for the last dregs of power instead of taking the hint Primus provided and working together to repair all the __damage__ you caused while you were raping the planet for everything it had. _

_You're disgusting. You're worthless. Your long-suffering brothers are glad to be rid of you, the sparklings are scared of you, and nobody else would even __consider__ accepting such a __pathetic__ waste of spare parts into their faction. _

_You are here because it is the only place you have ever belonged. Megatron is the only one who would ever spare you a second thought, the only one who could ever give you __purpose__. The only one to ignore all your abundant flaws, and focus instead on what you could __become__. Because there's still greatness inside you, deep down under all those layers of self-doubt, self-loathing. Just need a skilled hand to flay off the cloying layers of tarry over-emotion, and bring your true, powerful self out, bright as a new coin. _

_Just think about it, Thundercracker. I __hate__ to see you languishing here, so abandoned and alone, when all you have to do is swallow that bolus of pride and accept the offer Megatron is kindly holding out to you. You know he won't be so patient for much longer._

_…Just think about it. _

0o0o0o0o0

In recent orns, the _Ark_ had grown somewhat uncomfortable.

The small Cybertron police team looked quite out-of-their-depth, as newcomers to the dirt-ball, and rather in awe of the highly notorious group of machines they were briefly lodging with. For their part, the _Ark_ residents were more than a little uneasy about having the Cybertron team staying aboard, given the notoriety _they _had earned after the whole Blue drama and their obvious links to the Seekers.

In spite of the fact the two groups of machines were (or at least, _had been_) Autobots, it was not a particularly comfortable co-habitation. The ex-Decepticons themselves had grown… well, _better tolerated_, if not precisely _liked_, and they had come to an unspoken consensus with the _Ark_'s residents of how to respond to each other (mostly 'leave us the Pit alone, and we'll leave you alone back').

The newcomers were harder to know how to react to. Had they just been "normal, traditional" Autobots, solid and predictable, anti-Decepticon and belligerent towards their unwelcome visitors, all would have been fine… But the mix of Neutral and moderate – and openly amiable relations with the Seekers – meant things were more political. And the Aerialbots – who clearly _wanted _to have some sort of normal, friendly relationship with the fliers they admired, but were stuck in their position as 'the enemy' and expected to hold the faction line – were rather trapped in the middle of it all, not sure _which_ way they ought to turn.

As should probably have been anticipated, Vector and Sunstreaker in particular had made enemies out of each other quite quickly – partly because the big Policebot was one of the few that still wore her Autobot badge, and didn't seem inclined to back down and renounce her heritage just because some "overbearing little thug" had a problem with it. She was unfortunately also bigger than him, built specifically for "subduing" unruly mechs, and lacked a certain… subtlety. So when Sunstreaker got too close for comfort - "I didn't know _Neutral_ was a synonym for _Decepticon Sympathiser_, now…" - she saw nothing at all wrong with a swift punch in the faceplates.

…Cue another all-in riot.

Prowl lost patience and sternly threatened everyone with a period of enforced curfew, stating that if they didn't _ignore_ each other, in the event they really couldn't just _try _and get along, he had no qualms about restricting the areas the respective groups were allowed to access.

After a little more verbal jostling, and some more 'integration' issues, an… _uneasy_ sort of peace had settled back on the _Ark_, with each of the two groups keeping themselves mostly to themselves.

The rec-room was one of the few places all three factions came together – not many quarters had private fuel dispensers, and a charging hookup would only do so much to a depleted system, so everyone was forced together to get to the energon. There wasn't yet a rota in place for who was allowed in and when – Prowl was holding off having to do so just yet, in the hope that things would settle down – and thankfully a sort of cease-fire, albeit _uneasy_, was being maintained, the groups sticking to their respective sides of the room with a quasi-religious devotion.

When Skywarp finally poked his head around the door, the rec-room was quiet – although it was a _heavy _quiet, a bit like a storm was hanging at ceiling level, and about to break over the inhabitants. Starscream was already sitting at their usual table in the corner, chin propped in blue hands, a scowl further darkening his features. Forceps had settled between the former air commander and Hardline, although she was closer to the tank, and apparently updating him on the situation; Hardline in turn looked content just to have found her safe and sound, his large hand covering hers where it rested on the tabletop.

Whitesides and Surefire were sort-of kinda not-really almost sharing the couch – one at each end, trying not to look like they'd argued about something. Longbeam was nestled comfortably into Vector's arms, her head resting against her friend's shoulder; the two femmes were sharing one of the slouch cushions in the corner of the room, talking in soft, murmury voices and looking… _cosier_ than "just sharing because there's not enough chairs".

Skywarp gave them a curious look, but didn't push it. He gave Starscream a flick around the back of the head with a news wafer he'd "acquired" (probably stolen from Red Alert), and dropped it into his hands once he'd got the anticipated snap of _don't-be-stupid,_ before heading off in search of energon. Sideswipe was sat at a computer terminal beside the dispenser, but each mostly acted like the other wasn't there. (There were one or two wolf-whistles in the background, and a twitter of "uh-oh lover's tiff ignoring each other," which were also studiously ignored.)

There was a low _thud_ in the background, and Celerity met the amused/confused stares that followed with an embarrassed smile and a shrug. "My basal protocols rejected the dimensional primers that came with the refit," she explained, ruefully, rubbing her temple as she crossed the room.. "So I had to do it the long way. Still a bit clumsy." She settled on the low couch between the two cycles; the cushions sagged under her weight and slumped them into her. She _oops_!-ed and gave a nervy laugh as they righted themselves. "Suddenly being half as tall again as you used to be, and twice the mass, isn't easy to get used to."

There were snickers in the background – _maybe that's what the Decepticons do to you_ – at which Vector threw an empty energon cube, defensive on her twin's behalf. Seemed she had a good aim, if the _yerp_! of surprise was anything to go by. "Takes more than just a hundred orns to get used to living in a new root mode when you'd had your last one a few million," she scolded.

There were resentful mutters but nothing more, and she let it drop.

"I still can't believe you're actually not all that bothered Cali has free reign of the medical suite," Vector commented, now she had peoples' attention on her – although she had a sort of _suspicious_ tone of voice, as if sensing there were a little more to what Starscream was planning than just that. "All the trouble we went to just getting Panacea to sign her off as ok to leave under guard for a few days, you're just letting her waltz about unchecked…"

Starscream gave her a grim look. "Trust me, it doesn't _please_ me one bit, because I _know_ she's got a game she's playing. I'd have her in full stasis in the brig, or something, if it was down to choice. _But_…" He rumbled his turbines, irritably, and muttered thanks at Skywarp, who'd thrust a flask of energon under his nose. "I need to get information out of her _some_how, and to quote the _Ark_'s over-reactive chief of security? If she thinks our optics are directed elsewhere, she might be a little more inclined to be careless. If we're watching her every move, she'll be a lot more… cautious… about how she acts."

Vector nodded, thoughtfully. "I get that, but… You don't think maybe she'll sense something's up with you accepting her promise of good behaviour so readily, and modulate her behaviour accordingly?"

Starscream spread his hands, frustratedly. "What choice do I have?" he snapped. "If I watch her closely, she'll not let anything slip; if I don't watch her, she'll sense a trick and not let anything slip; and I sure as Primus can't just go data-mining like I would have back on _Nemesis._"

No one felt inclined to grill too deeply on what he meant by the last one.

The brief spell of uncomfortable silence was broken by Whitesides; "Hey, Pulsar."

The police-bike was in the doorway, Footloose chirping and squeaking around her legs; she offered a little wave in his direction. She had her scarf tied back around her head, and was navigating her way around mostly by touch, instead of sight, keeping her fingertips in contact with the walls – or Footloose, although the sparkling wasn't being entirely useful. Pulsar's stride was still hesitant – like a frightened creature on the point of giving up and bolting for safety – and judging by the way people were turning to look at her she was broadcasting a low-level broad-band ping to see where everyone was, but she hadn't _yet_ lost her nerve, in spite of the dozens of signals she must have been getting in response. She slid herself into the last remaining seat at the table, once Footloose had steered her towards it.

"When are you gonna let Sepp fix you up, Squeaky?" Skywarp asked, once she was settled, giving her a look. "Looks like I've been knocking you about."

She forced a smile. "I'm trying to work out which is more bruising to your ego," she joked, tightly, as Footloose burrowed up into her lap and chirped greetings. "Having to suffer the indignity of having an _Autobot_ femme on your arm, or the fact you only managed to land a _broken_ one."

"Pfft. You weren't broken when I first met you. Just a noisy, over-principled little-"

"All right, all right, that's enough of that!"

Silence held sway for a moment or two, broken only by Footloose's barely-intelligible squeaking about going to 'make energon', before he spoke again. "Seriously, Pulse," he wondered, more quietly. "When _are_ you going to let her get you back into one piece?"

Pulsar stared blindly down at her fingers and weighed the words in her mind. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "She has to, ah… she has to knock me out to do it. And-" She ejected the words in a rush, before she lost her nerve and swallowed them again. "I don't want to be unconscious again. Not yet. Not when all I see is Siphon."

He was quiet, for a moment. "She couldn't… you know… do it while you're awake?"

Pulsar shook her head, then corrected herself; "Well, maybe. I've not asked. Sepp?"

"Theoretically, yes," the surgeon confirmed, grimly. "Logistically? I don't know that it'll be any easier. Replacing an entire limb isn't as simple as just clicking it into place at the shoulder; there's anchor points spread right across the upper chassis, and they all come very close to the spark chamber. Even if I don't use full sedation, I'll need to use some sort of stasis mantle, and I imagine that'll probably go down worse."

Pulsar shrank back little at the idea, and nodded agreement. "Conscious _and_ paralysed?" she wondered, feebly.

"Point taken." Skywarp slumped in his chair and pursed his lips, disappointed that his master stroke was apparently not _that_ good, after all.

Over by the energon dispenser, Footloose had run into an unanticipated problem. The dispenser was waay up above her head, and she couldn't see what might be on the shelf in front of it. Now, high places were no barrier to her gate, she had an effective range of a good few hundred metres, but unseen objects that she might end up tangling her feet up in when she got to her destination _were_. Forceps would be extremely unlikely to have any spare sets of sparkling feet in her subspace if Footloose blended herself with a flask and had to get replacements! To be on the safe side, she teleported herself up into the clear space _above _the shelf, and dropped the couple of feet to the surface below, landing among the unattended flasks with a clatter like falling pans.

The noise made Sideswipe jump. "Whoa, hey,_ hey_, what are you doing up there?"

Footloose startled at the exclamation, then gave him her best cute-and-inoffensive look. "Sighswipe help make energon?"

"What?" he paused the display and looked more seriously at her.

"Energon," she repeated, pointing at the dispenser. "Sighswipe help to make? How it work?"

"It's _Side_swipe," he corrected. "And remind me why you think I ought to go helping a little Mini-con like you?"

"Not Decepticon," she argued. "Am a nothing."

He couldn't help smiling at that. "You're a _what_?"

"A nothing! Decepticon is plus, Autobot is minus." She held up her hands to explain. "Plus and minus together makes nothing. Am a nothing!"

"You mean a _Neutral_," Sideswipe corrected, amusedly.

"Is same," Footloose challenged, grumpily, as he picked up a flask and slotted it into the outlet.

He chuckled, dryly, gesturing to the relevant buttons to press. "Well, much as I'd love to agree with you, I don't value _that _particular opinion enough to want to take a pounding for it…"

Pulsar and Skywarp had been discussing the logistics of repairs quietly with Forceps when a little voice questioned from by their feet; "Ama?"

Glancing down, Skywarp found Footloose between their chairs, carrying a flask of energon almost as tall as she was; she had both arms wrapped all the way around it just to hold it, and was gazing up at them with a big, hopeful smile.

"A _whole _flask? I hope you're gonna drink all that, now you poured it out, Shorty," Skywarp snerked, amusedly, well aware that it would be a physical impossibility.

"Is for Ama," Footloose explained, quietly.

Pulsar was quiet, for a few moments. "I don't think _I_ can drink that much, little one," she said, gently, but she was at least smiling. "But I'm sure there's people around who'll help if I get full." If she was perfectly honest, she didn't think she'd manage much more than a mouthful or two, let alone fill her depleted systems. All that murky, muddy brown rubbish Siphon had been keeping her alive on had left her system very unstable, and even just basic grade gave off enough vapours to upset her diagnostics.

Skywarp picked the small femme up off the floor, flask and all, and set her down on the table; she squeaked amusedly. "It's a good job we've got someone to look after us, isn't it, Ama?" he wondered, dryly, emphasising the _look after_ part.

Footloose picked up on the hint. "Look after Ama when Day go find Dack and Seem," she agreed, seriously, settling nearby so she could (try to) help Pulsar lift things. "Am important job."

"Speaking of which," a deep voice rumbled, from nearby; they looked round to find Hardline watching them, finger raised for emphasis. "How _are_ we going to get to this place in a free car? You two going to do it in shifts, or have you roped in some help?"

"It's _Africa_," Skywarp corrected, with a snerk. "And even though I know Screamer isn't gonna like it, I've been having some ideas about that…"

0o0o0o0o0

Skyfire was pottering about in his laboratory, busy trying to isolate compounds from the selection of plant materials growing in humorously-coloured pots on the table in the corner, and trying not to act like he was _too _disappointed at the way Starscream was still avoiding talking to him. The door stood open, as always; he hoped it'd encourage some of the more reluctant sparks to see science – and him! – as less _threatening_, if it wasn't all being conducted in secrecy behind closed doors. Just one big friendly mech looking for interesting things to make all their lives easier.

He heard the clatter of Seeker feet approaching down the hallway long before he heard the voices – they were making a half-sparked attempt at muting the noise by placing their thrusters more carefully on the floor, but were still unmistakable simply by the low, hollow _thoks_ each step made. He busied himself with his ion exchange resins and tried not to listen – it was very doubtful they were here to actually _talk_ to him, so there was no point in getting his hopes up. Starscream had probably roped Skywarp into stealing something for him. The teleport could be in and out of places almost unseen, catching him before he stole whatever he was after was an exercise in futil-

"…he's _your _friend, he'll listen to _you_, so _you _go ask him!"

Skyfire straightened, surprised, and added half a beaker of solute to the column instead of a few drops, overloading the resin. Darn, that meant he'd have to re-run this batch. Oh well. The noises outside had become more important, anyway; Skywarp's hissed comment was obviously not intended for Skyfire's audios, so in spite of his surprise he politely pretended to have not heard.

Starscream's protest shot back very quickly. Hmm. Maybe _he _was the one that had been roped into coming, for once? "I told you already, we don't need _his_ help-"

"Oh right, so _you're _gonna carry Hardline, are you?"

Silence.

"…just go ask him already, you big wuss-"

"-don't you tell me what to do!"

"So don't make me _need _to! The Pit are you afraid of, anyway, you still all moony for him or something-?"

"_Skywarp-!_" Scuffling noises. "Frag this for a game of soldiers, we'll just get the Aerialbots to help, they're desperate enough to look useful-"

"And we'll _still_ be down one to carry. Fine, Hardline will have to stay back because none of us are big enough to lift him, so we'll fail bigtime and it'll all be _your_ fault because you were too much of an aft to just ask for help."

"I will _slag_ you in a br-… hey, wait, what are-… _Warp_…!"

There was a scuffling sound of something sliding over a rough floor, and more quiet protests, and Skyfire finally gave into temptation and turned to look at the door _just_ as Skywarp succeeded in forcing his wingmate over the threshold. The teleport met his gaze for all of an astro-second before snerking rudely and vanishing in a flicker of ions.

Starscream looked fairly well peeved; he glared down at his feet for a moment or two, lips pursed, clearly rehearsing his words silently in his processors. "Um," he said, awkwardly, shifted his weight onto the other thruster, then clarified what he meant. "Uh, that is… well."

Skyfire gave him a patient look, and tried not to look like he'd been listening in to their quarrel.

"I, uh. I… could do with your help." The red Seeker managed to get the words out.

"You know you only have to ask," Skyfire reassured.

"Not for me, it's for Skywarp," Starscream defended himself. "We, uh. Need to get to Egypt."

Skyfire made a point of looking at the red Seeker's repaired thrusters.

"That is, not _just _us," Starscream corrected. "We'll need backup, and since not many Autobots here want to help us…"

"…your friends from Cybertron are going to fill the gap?"

Starscream folded his arms and pouted. "Like Skywarp so kindly reminded me, I'm not best placed to carry Hardline," he agreed, sourly. "And even if I was, there's only two of us, and eight of them including Cali."

Skyfire smiled and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I would be honoured to help you."

Starscream tolerated the hand for all of an astro-second before irritably shoving him off, but it was a start. "We're leaving in three cycles. Don't be late."

Skyfire watched him stomp away, and sagged onto a stool. Granted it hadn't been the most _amicable_ or even _polite_ of conversations, but at least it hadn't involved Starscream trying to tear chunks off him. Maybe there was hope for them yet.

0o0o0o0o0

The medical suite was usually fairly quiet, but in the last few breems it had got quite busy. Atchet grumbled about it, but Footloose liked it busy! Lots of interesting things to look at, and it made her feel like she was helping with something important.

Shoefie was sat on a stool to one side, her face turned up while Sunny carefully painted over her yellow cheek flashes, turning them blue, like Ama's. (Footloose was miffed that even though Jas had said she was a good painter, Sunny wouldn't let her help.) They were going to go trick Megatron, she'd heard. Shoefie was going to pretend to be Ama, although the _exact _reasons for it had escaped the sparkling. They were almost identical though, so it should be quite easy. Even their voices were nearly the same – a little tweak here and there and when Ama was fixed, not even Ausep would be able to tell them apart without a ping!

Ama was with Ausep right now, having medicine done, so Footloose was out in the main medical suite, under Atchet's watchful optic, doing a "scientific study" of Septor's oolies – well, drawing them for Ama, so she could see what they looked like when they went home and her broken face got mended. For bolologics, the oolies were pretty and shiny and she thought Ama would like them-

"So."

Footloose startled, and glanced up from her piece of paper to find that strange femme Screamer had dunked in the tank earlier peering down at her. She shrank back a little, quietly, and wiggled her fingers in an uncertain greeting; the fingers of the other hand had already crept into her mouth.

"You're _Skywarp's_ offspring, are you?" The strange femme braced her cuffed hands against the sideboard, and leaned her weight onto her elbows.

Footloose nodded. The bigger femme had green optics a bit like her own, but they were a lot larger, and made her uneasy. Like they were looking right _into_ her, seeing everything important that made her function.

"I'm surprised he managed to find anyone who tolerated him long enough to _want_ to procreate with him," she observed, dryly.

"Am a accident," Footloose explained, shyly.

The femme smiled, unkindly. "Why doesn't _that_ surprise me," she wondered, dryly, and after a moment the smile evened into something more genial, friendly. "So. What's your name, Spark?"

"Am Button," Footloose answered, softly, round her fingers. "Who am?"

"Me?" The femme touched one of her long, spidery hands against her chest. "My name is Calibrator – or just Cali. I used to work with Ama."

Footloose brightened a fraction. "Friends with Ama?"

"We _were_, yes," Calibrator agreed, quietly. "Although…" She lifted her cuffed hands. "I don't know if she likes me very much any more."

"…Cally made bad things?" Footloose wondered, shrinking back.

"Cali made _mistakes_," Calibrator replied, sadly. "I'm staying at a brain hospital for them to try and fix me."

Footloose traced her fingertips over the heavy cuffs at Calibrator's wrists. "Am in hospital _prison_?"

Calibrator wrinkled her nose, sourly. "It's called a secure psychiatric unit," she agreed, dryly. "It's where you go if you're a bit crazy."

Footloose gave a little squeak of alarm. "Day not go there?"

Calibrator laughed, which was a little bit reassuring. "No, no, he's not _crazy_, he's just not very clever. I'm _very_ intelligent – smarter than Starscream! – but I'm still a little… wrong in the brainpan." She tapped her forehead. "Probably _too_ clever, Button, I have too many thoughts to keep track of! Best to stay stupid."

Footloose stared up at her, for a moment or two, unsure if she was calling _her_ stupid.

"May I see what you're drawing?" Calibrator changed the subject, smoothly.

Footloose turned the paper a little and pushed it towards her; the analyst peered closer and tried to make something out of the mass of circles. There was a technical ability there, certainly – purely by merit of being computer-brained, the little one had something of a competence in replicating images. There was a childish _in_competence there as well, though – a muddled sort of attempt at '_cartoonishness_.' "Um… what are those?"

"Am oolies," Footloose explained, pointing at the blobs of organic matter floating sedately in the water tank. "Making picture for Ama."

"…oolies?" Calibrator looked harder and worked out they were some sort of biological life-form, covered in iridescent silvery scales and studded with translucent fins. Not very _active, _whatever they were.

"Septor's oolie-fish." Footloose pointed again, a little more closely. "They for making science."

"Making science, huh?" Calibrator grinned. "That's what my old job was, before I got sick. See?" She wiggled her long fingers, demonstrating the inbuilt probes. "That's how I knew Ama, we worked for the police together."

"Here to help police now?"

Calibrator offered a grimacing smile. "After a fashion, yes."

"Want to help also," Footloose commented, sulkily. "Day not let."

"…Skywarp making you stay here, is he?"

The sparkling pouted, unimpressed, and nodded. "Can be useful, come and make help, find Seem." She folded her arms, optics darkening to a sullen pond green. "Day says no, not safe."

"Well, 'Day' isn't the brightest of sparks, is he?" Calibrator soothed. "He's probably just erring on the side of caution. Making sure you're well looked after." She laughed, as if at a private joke, and waved the sparkling's unspoken question away without answering it. "He doesn't want to get in trouble for letting you come, if you then get hurt."

"Cally knowed Day?" Footloose wondered, quirking her head to one side.

"Oh yes, I certainly knew Skywarp. Worked with him for a little while, in fact…" she hesitated, and corrected herself; "well, that was the idea, at least. He's… interesting, I suppose… to work with." Beat, curious. "Maybe that's why he doesn't want you coming along."

Footloose gave her a curious look. "What meaning?"

Calibrator gave her an exaggeratedly _oops!_-face, as though realising she'd made a terrible mistake, and turned away. "Oh, d-don't you worry about that. Forget I said it."

"What? _What_?" Footloose was up on her feet and tugging at the analyst's shoulder. "Tell me, tell me!"

"Oh, I don't want to hurt your feelings, Spark," Calibrator soothed, petting the small helm, soothingly. "Or Day's! It's probably nothing."

Footloose whined, huffily, and gave her a more wide-eyed and more appealing look. "Please?"

"No, no. I don't want to hurt your feelings." Calibrator lifted her hands.

"Feelings not be hurt." Footloose gave her a pleading look.

Calibrator glanced over at the door, then leaned closer, sneakily. "Promise not to tell?"

"Promise." Footloose placed a hand down on her little chest.

Calibrator gave her an exaggeratedly suspicious look, then leaned down closer to her little audios. "Well, see…" She picked up a pencil, and began to help colour in the fins, trying not to act too suspicious, just in case prying eyes might be watching. "He doesn't want you to come because he doesn't want you to mess it up, Button," she murmured, softly. "Because you're little. And stupid – like him."

Footloose sat up straighter, and flashed the analyst an angry look. "Am not stupid."

Calibrator spread her hands as best she could, apologetically. "That's not what I heard him saying to Starscream," she said, softly, as though imparting a big secret. "He said he wished you weren't so small and useless, because then you might actually be able to help them a bit. Because they can't trust you not to mess things up, they've got to leave you here while they go to rescue Thundercracker."

Footloose gazed down at her paper, suddenly losing interest in continuing colouring. "Said was to stay and look after Ama," she said, quietly, setting her coloured pencil down. And Day had made it sound like such a big deal, too! _I need you to do a very important job for me, I need you to stay here and look after Ama, or she'll be lonely!_ So… did that… but that… meant… he'd made untruths to her? Her shoulder sagged, disappointed. "Not important?"

"Oh it's probably important," Calibrator soothed, gently, stroking the slumped little shoulders. "It's just _more _important that he keeps you out of the way."

"Could help," the sparkling insisted, faintly. "Am little, could get in places."

"I know you could," Calibrator agreed, awkwardly manoeuvring a green pencil with her cuffed, spindly hands to colour one of the fish tails. "I think you're a lot smarter than they all say. And I'm sure you'll be able to prove him wrong some day! You just need to get the chance, don't you?"

Footloose nodded, glumly. She picked her pencil back up, and resumed colouring, but halfheartedly, just going over and over the same spot. "Miss Seem," she said, quietly.

"I know you do, Spark. You'll just have to trust Day is clever enough to rescue him…"

"Ex-_cuse_ me, but _what_ do you think you're doing?" an unexpected voice demanded, softly, from behind.

Footloose peered around Calibrator to find Skywarp stood just behind her, his arms folded, a glower darkening his face. "Ooh. 'Lo, Day?" she greeted, awkwardly.

"What. Are you doing?" he repeated, softly, clearly directing the question at Calibrator, once he had both femmes looking at him.

Footloose answered on her behalf, lifting a pencil. "Making colourings?"

Calibrator gave him a sickly smile and a nod, which rubbed him completely the wrong way; his wings bristled and his glare intensified. "Lucy?" He released a finger and pointed at his shoulder. "Here now, please."

"Now? But haven't finished col-"

"_Now_, Lucy. You can finish later."

Hmm, that was a bad sign if Day was being bossy like Starscream. "Bye, Cally." Footloose bumped cheeks and blipped out of sight, reappearing immediately in just the right place to drop down on Skywarp's shoulder. "Here!"

Skywarp patted one of her little feet, but kept his attention on Calibrator. "If you value your mobility, you'll leave Footloose alone," he threatened, softly, stabbing a finger for emphasis. "You don't _touch_ her, you don't _talk_ to her, you don't even go _near_ her. Got that?"

Calibrator bowed, mockingly. "Of _course_, oh mighty Skywarp," she simpered.

Skywarp shot her a glare and mimed a punch, and she flinched back, involuntarily; she made a face at his retreating wings the instant he'd turned away.

"So. What were you two talking about, eh, Squirt?" Skywarp wondered, amiably, lounging back against the outside wall of the sideroom while he waited for Forceps to finish what she was doing.

Footloose hesitated very briefly before she answered – she sensed he might be unhappy with her for talking to the strange femme, and there was something that sounded like suspicion in his voice. "Science," she chirped. "Cally helping colour oolies for Ama. Said likes science, worked at police with Ama before got sick!"

"That's it, huh?" There was still that suspicion there, but it was less strong.

"Is all," Footloose agreed, maintaining her cheery tone only with effort. She felt… awkward, making untruths. Fibs were bad, and the police came if you made really bad lies. But Day had not said the truth to her, either, had he? Made lies, to make her stay behind, because he thought she was stupid. "Cally not good at making colour, fingers too long," she added, as if telling a big secret, and he laughed.

"I don't think that's just to do with her _fingers_, Button. Just cause she's smart doesn't mean she's _good_ at anything!" Skywarp chuckled, dryly, making faces across the lab at the watching Calibrator. She huffed and stuck out her tongue in response.

Footloose sighed hot air from her vents and leaned against Skywarp's shoulder pylon. "When going?"

"As soon as Aunt Grumpy-"

"_I heard that_," a low voice issued through the door.

"-has finished. And you were meant to hear it, 'cause you're being _slow _again, Sepp. You're the only one we're waiting on!"

The surgeon emerged wiping her hands clean on an old rag, which she shoved into Skywarp's face in passing. "Ingrate."

Skywarp vibrated air across his vents in a raspberry of displeasure and threw the cloth back at her, but it unfolded mid-flight and fell short. "Meet you in the hangar in a couple of breems."

Pulsar flinched back and hastily dropped her gaze away when he and Footloose came through the doorway. "You on your way, then?" she wondered, quietly.

Skywarp nodded. "Yeah. We've roped in some help, so… should be enough of us. We're heading out in a breem or two." He smiled, grimly. "Wish us luck, huh?"

She glanced up and managed to meet his gaze for the smallest fraction of a second before tearing herself away again. "Take care."

0o0o0o0o0

By the time Skyfire was finally preparing to leave, there weren't many machines actually left in the hangar bay; the two Seekers and the Aerialbots had all already left with their own passengers, to help keep the weight down. Footloose had watched glumly from her perch on top of a pile of crates as Skywarp had left with Surefire, and Starscream had followed (rather more reluctantly) with Whitesides – _that_ had been Hardline's idea, to get the pair back on speaking terms, after the marksbot had suffered a rather ignominious aft-kicking at the Seeker's angry hands last time they'd worked together. The Aerialbots had jostled about and effectively drawn straws as to who carried who, but finally worked out the best distribution of load and followed the other two.

Which – for now – left only Skyfire;

"Ska'fie?" With a little effort, she managed to stretch upwards far enough to tug at his fingers.

"Hello there, Footloose," the giant greeted, scooping the tiny body up off the floor and bringing her closer to his eye-level. "You want to say goodbye, do you?"

She nodded, quietly. "Don't like that going away," she explained. "Want to help."

"I know you do, but it's better you stay here," he soothed, gently. "Safer."

"Wouldn't mess up," she promised.

"It's not about you messing up, Lucy. It's about keeping you safe!"

She clicked, softly, conflicted, and held his thumb. Skyfire was nice and she didn't think he'd mislead her, but maybe they'd not explained things to him. (The idea it might be _Cali_ lying to her hadn't managed to sink through very many layers of consciousness; the hurt feelings that accompanied it always drowned it out.)

In spite of her agreement to help, Calibrator was _not _coming quietly, and it was taking both heavyweights to actually get her to the hangar bay – for such a small machine, she was as supple and slippery as an eel and even harder to keep hold of. An unholy racket – mostly generated by her – preceded her down the corridor. Skyfire hastily finished saying goodbye to Footloose, setting her back down on her crates before hurrying away and transforming to his alt mode, just as Hardline emerged through the doorway with a pinched expression on his face and his arms full of swearing, kicking analyst. Forceps – following behind – was already liberally covered in black streaks, including one that bisected her left cheek neatly in two and missed her optic by a millimetre. She was fiddling with something curved and metallic – looked like a broken stasis mantle.

Calibrator took one look at the patient shuttle waiting in the hangar, and immediately kicked off again, more noisily than before, startling Hardline and almost bucking her way out of his grip. Forceps muttered an unintelligibly curse and leapt in to help.

Footloose seized her chance. While everyone's attention was elsewhere – Forceps and Hardline were struggling to calm the threshing analyst, and Skyfire was trying to move himself into a more useful position to help them scramble aboard – she scrunched her little nose, performed a quick triangulation, and teleported herself to a convenient little gap beside Skyfire's ramp. The second the three bigger adults had passed her, she darted up the ramp and scuttled into the hiding place she'd seen from outside, dimming her optics. Now she could help out, _and_ show Day she wasn't stupid and he didn't need to be disappointed with her. She clicked once to herself, comfortingly, before muting her vocaliser.

In the very periphery of her vision, Calibrator had seen the little dark shape flash past and vanish behind an internal bulkhead. She permitted herself a faint smile, even as that stupid lug of a doctor finally fixed the mantle and clipped it snug around her small neck; it might be partial enforced stasis, but she could relax, now. Everything was going to plan.


	26. Chapter 25

**Warped - Chapter Twenty Five  
**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** I think little Seemy is going to have made himself a bit of an enemy-for-life, here. :shifty eyes:

Thank you all again for your reviews. :) Sorry it's got slow between updates, again - but I promise not to drop the ball! ;)

* * *

Down in Amarna, Starscream had adopted a ricketty old warehouse as a base – after temporarily evicting/bullying/bribing the resident cluster of squishies out of it – and was struggling to pull the plan together. The Aerialbots were busy jostling and quarrelling amongst themselves, and the Policebots – most of whom had never left Cybertron even once in their entire considerably long lives – looked fairly amazed by such simple things as all the _sand_, so retaining their collective attention was difficult.

Skywarp stood to the rear of the cluster, just outside of the shed, impatiently listening as Starscream dealt out instructions. He just wanted to _get going_, not have to listen to that old windbag droning on, but figured the fallout from _Spoiling the Plan_ would be even louder, so he'd just have to endure it.

_We go first_, Starscream was saying. _Warp and I. We'll take Cali with us, with one of you Flybots to get her away if things start to look precarious. The rest of you? Spread out and make yourselves difficult targets, but stay visible, so they know we're not just bluffing. I very much doubt, ah… __Mighty__ Megatron will do the exchange at all, let alone without a fight, so-_

"Skywarp?"

A voice intruded into the teleport's attention. "Not now, Sepp-" He waved a hand, distractedly, trying to listen to his wingmate, and irritated that he'd missed a chunk of information.

"_Yes_ now," she insisted, in _That_ tone of voice. "We have a problem."

Skywarp huffed exaggeratedly, and turned… to find the surgeon with her arms full of unhappy sparkling.

"We were just crossing into Africa when I found a stowaway," Forceps clarified.

"Aw, _frag_…" Skywarp groaned, covering his face, briefing forgotten. "I thought I told you-… I thought we agreed you were gonna stay home, Lucy? That you needed to look after Ama?"

Footloose was out of Forceps' arms and up into his like a little dark streak of lightning the instant the big femme relaxed her hold. She butted her little helm up under his chin and mewed static at him, clinging to him.

"Why'd you have to sneak along, you dopey sparkling?" he prodded, despairingly. "I thought we'd agreed you were gonna be a good little femme and stay with Ama."

"Day said was stupid." she explained, miserably, hugging his neck. "Wanted to help, prove not stupid."

"What?" He peeled her off him, held her out in front of him so he could look her in the eye. "When did I say you were stupid?"

"When talk with Unnol Sta'zim." She wriggled and tried to squirm her way forwards, arms out. "Not to come because am not clever, and will mess up."

"Aw, come on, Lou. You're a _sparkling_." He sighed hot air from his vents and allowed her to fasten herself back around his neck. "You're not even a quarter-vorn old yet! Of course you're not gonna be really smart, yet. And that wasn't why I didn't want you to come." He straightened her scuffed little aerials, and listened as the static simmering from her vocaliser eased a little. "I might have said you were being _silly_, but that doesn't mean you're _stupid_." At least – and he did feel kinda bad for thinking it – she was upset; had realised that maybe Day _hadn't_ just been being a big unfair meanie. "Now I've gotta find somewhere safe to park you until we're ready to go home."

"Am sorry," Footloose whined, moulding into his arms. "Just wanted to help. Just wanted to help!"

Skywarp sighed and cupped the back of her small helm with his palm, comfortingly. Silly creature had _really_ done a number on him, hadn't she? There'd be no going back to how it had been before _now_. "When did you hear me call you stupid, eh, Lucy?" he wondered, quietly, watching Starscream still struggling to get his message across; 'herding cats' was what the humans would have called it, he thought. "'Cause I was probably just frustrated. I didn't really mean it."

Footloose gave him a funny sidelong glance, and stayed quiet.

"Hmm?" He tugged his attention from the surreal picture of the former Decepticon Air Commander trying to wrangle the squabbling gaggle of Autobots, and gave her a more serious look. "Footloose?"

The sparkling examined her fingers. "Is secret," she admitted, reluctantly, posting the fingertips into her mouth. "Said not to say."

"So… Did someone tell you?" Something had begun to _click_. His memory wasn't brilliant because a foible of his teleport meant he often overwrote less-important memories with maps, but he was sure he'd have remembered saying something like that. Which meant… "You didn't actually _hear_ me?"

She was quiet, sucking her fingers, but the tiny involuntary flicker of a glance at Calibrator told Skywarp all he wanted to know.

"Ok, Button. Big important instruction time again." He said, quietly, trying not to lose his temper with the analyst until he'd told Footloose what to do, because yelling at the sparkling instead of Cali probably wouldn't help just yet. Maybe yell at her for being such a gullible twit once this was all resolved, but not while they were on such… _shaky_ ground. "You're going to stay with Sepp and do what she tells you from now on," He told her, quietly. "And I _mean it_, Lou, if you disobey me again I'm gonna make sure there's no fun things for you for a whole twenty orns."

He felt her nod, very slightly, where her head rested against his neck.

"This is no place for sparklings," he went on, seriously. "It's not some merry jaunt through the dirt, it's gonna be dangerous and some folk will probably get _shot_."

"Am sorry," she replied, faintly, and agreed; "I stay with Ausep."

"Promise?"

"Promise. Be good or no fun things."

"There's a good femme." He carefully set her down in Forceps' arms the instant she'd relaxed her hold enough for him to remove her without a fight, and swapped a meaningful look with the surgeon – she nodded slightly; _not going to let this troublemaker sneak off_ _again_… Then he set his jaw, primed his weapons, and strode into the middle of the gaggle of Autobots.

Vector stood just off to one side, quietly guarding the diminutive analyst, one large blue hand mantled across both tiny black shoulders; it was an easy matter of simply pushing in and snatching the smaller femme up from under her warder's hand.

"Whoa, hey, what's going on?" Vector startled and snatched a hand at her, alarmed but far too late – and seeing it was Skywarp that had her wasn't much more reassuring than seeing Megatron grab her up, given how the dark Seeker was already bristling and hot with anger, murder in his crimson optics. "Skywarp-!"

To her credit, Calibrator didn't bother demanding to know what was going on – she knew exactly why he was angry, and even managed to _smirk_ at him… until the wall impacted hard with her back and the emitter cone on the infuriated Seeker's cannon jammed into the hollow space under her jaw, where the actuators were looser. She squeaked in pain and kicked out, uselessly.

"If I find out you've been _seeding_ my little one with any more of your evil thoughts," Skywarp promised, softly, lips so close to her audio receptors that she could feel them stirring the air as they moved. "I _will_ melt a hole clean through to the top of your head."

"Big words," she retorted, although the static in her voice betrayed her fright, and hot, stressed air was pumping out of her vents. "You _need_ me. Kill me, and you're stuck."

"We don't need you that badly," he hissed, giving a little _push_; she gasped faintly in alarm and clutched at him, trying to dislodge the weapon from where it was digging into her throat. "We could probably bait Siphon out just as easily so long as he can see a _body_. Probably easier, too, if he thinks we killed you. Make him niiice and _angry_."

She offlined her optics and twisted her face away from him; his face was close enough to her own that she got the morbid impression he was going to bite a hole in her primary fuel line, like some noxious little predator-

A steadying blue hand settled onto Skywarp's shoulder; the teleport snorted, disgustedly, and gave her one last hard _shove_, but took Starscream's unspoken advice and dropped her. "You're lucky I want my brother back more than I want you dead, femme," he growled, stepping back . "Or you'd be in bits already."

Calibrator's knees had bowed inwards and she was struggling to stay standing on her own, but she was making a valiant effort at looking belligerent. "Big bad Decepticons going all _wibbly_ over a sparkling," she sniped, shakily, her voice still distorted from where he'd shoved her hard enough to damage the inner plating. "How _shameful_."

Skywarp gave her a look of icy disdain, and folded his arms. "_You're_ hardly one to talk of superiority, putting an infant at risk purely to further your own campaign."

She glowered up at him from below hooded brows. "Reject Decepticons preaching love and peace? Whatever next?"

Skywarp gave her a glaring smile, and a friendly-threatening swat on the shoulder that took her legs clean out from under her. "You best look after her from now on, Screamer," he chewed out. "I might accidentally on purpose be forced to melt out some sensitive bit of anatomy if she pokes me again."

Calibrator wisely elected not to comment, sitting in the dirt with the disgust fairly _dripping_ from her. Vector scurried hastily in and reclaimed her charge.

Starscream had readily twigged what was going on, although his irritation had turned towards someone else – someone very big, and pale in colour. "Didn't you _notice _her?" he wondered, in those curt, staccato tones he used when trying not to lose his temper. "Given that _you_ were _carrying _her?"

Skyfire already looked somewhat humiliated for the error, wings sagging, and offered a half-apologetic half-irritable grimace. "Calibrator was not making any effort to come quietly," he defended himself. "If you expected me to spot one tiny sparkling when two much larger machines are trying to calm a violent struggle going on _inside me_, then you have more faith in my capabilities than I do."

Starscream grunted in that _no-comment_ way of his, but actually seemed unexpectedly mollified by the answer. Skyfire decided he must have more important things to think about, and certainly wasn't going to push the issue.

Forceps had advanced on the little group to get updated on the situation, with Footloose – still unnaturally quiet – perched on one shoulder, clinging to an audio vent. The sparkling looked sorely crestfallen and Starscream surmised that it was something to do with being told off by Day; the little one clearly considered him unable to do anything wrong – Primus only knew _why_ – and that made it a big deal, hurting his feelings.

"So what's the situation?" the burly surgeon wondered, peering over the top of his head at the crowd of Autobots waiting for their cue to move. "When do we head out?"

The smaller machine planted a hand down on her chest before she could push past, and she paused. "Listen. Sepp?" he kept his voice low, just for a little privacy. "There's no 'we' in this; I want you to stay down here. I don't want you getting damaged in this. It's our fight; let the fighters take charge of it. Besides." He wrinkled his nose. "You're _hardly_ outfitted for battle, are you?"

She recognised the unspoken sentiment – _you're as close as I'll admit to calling a friend, I don't want you hurt – _and backed down. "Much as I'd _like_ to disagree, I accept that it's unlikely to be the sort of close-quarters fighting I'm capable of," she agreed, gruffly. "I'll stay back."

Starscream muttered something she didn't catch, and added; "Besides. We'll need you in top condition so you can put Thundercracker back together when we find him."

She elected not to comment on that bit. Asking '_you think he'll be that bad_?' seemed irrelevant, already having seen the taunting, black-daubed chips of wing sent back to them. "I'll find somewhere secure to wait for your call," she confirmed, with a little nod. "Soon as you've got him out, ping me."

Skywarp was standing fidgeting, obviously keen to head out; he gave his wingmate a pleading look.

Starscream nodded back, just once. "Whichever of you lot is the best flier," he instructed, darkly, surveying the cluster of anxious Aerialbot faces, "can come with us. The rest of you spread out and wait for our call – and we need you ready to move _as soon as _you get our ping. Understood?"

A flurry of nods responded to his instructions, and an alarmed-looking Skydive got 'volunteered' by a little push from behind.

"All right." Starscream nodded to Skywarp. "Let's go."

0o0o0o0o0

Like most of his aerial brethren, Dirge hated this stupid little underground bunker. It was cramped and airless and he wanted to get out and feel the wind under his wings, but no. He was stuck here, sparkling-sitting that creepy little staring one until Megatron let him off. It was a punishment, he knew, for getting carried away the last time. Well, the sooner he could engineer an 'accident' to put the stupid little blob of tin into stasis, the better.

There was a low _slup_ of air molecules deforming, and a moment later a small figure with alert purplish optics bumped down on its little aft on the top of the terminal. "Dirz?"

_Great_. Dirge pretended not to have noticed, in the hope it'd go away, but no such luck.

Slipstream bent down closer into his field of view. "Dirz?"

Dirge kept his gazed fixed sullenly on the screen. "I'm not talking to you until you quit _staring_, you creepy little-" He swallowed the rest of the sentence. He had no plans to repeat the verbal aft-kicking he'd endured earlier. "Go away and amuse yourself someplace else."

"But am not staring, am asking questions," Slipstream corrected, genially, and at last the Conehead glanced up to meet his gaze.

Ok, fair enough, so the little one _wasn't_ staring for once. "So ask," Dirge prompted, gruffly.

"Where Megatron go?"

Dirge narrowed his optics. "Why d'you want to know?"

"Bored." Slipstream siiighed melodramatically and propped his chin in his hands. "When to come back?"

Dirge's expression evened, a little. Maybe the tricky little bugger was starting to come around to the Decepticon way of thinking? "Our mighty leader has gone to talk with the mutineers," he replied, dryly. "Don't know why he bothers. I'd have shot Screamer out of the sky as soon as I saw him coming, the stupid wannabe Autobot. There's no way he's up to anything 'cept some more backstabbing."

"Come to rescue?" There was an odd, suspicious sort of tone to the little one's voice.

"Tch! They wish. A more inept bunch of losers would be hard to find," Dirge sneered. "Nah, they've come to do some sort of _exchange_. Primus knows who's gonna succeed in double-crossing the other."

The sparkling gave a nervous little giggle. "Decepticons better at tricks. Megatron wins."

Dirge gave him a grudging pat on the head. "Yeah, we're the best. Now you gonna go find something to amuse yourself with?"

Slipstream rubbed his cheek into the conehead's palm, and chirped agreement. "'Kay, Dirz. I go moos self."

0o0o0o0o0

The dry gully leading up to the disguised entrance to Siphon's lair had got crowded, of late. The two rival groups had each claimed a clifftop, across which they were glaring, just far enough apart that they couldn't immediately come to blows. Starscream's little group – consisting of only himself and Skywarp, Skydive and Calibrator – looked rather vulnerable, compared to the larger group on the other cliff… and the Stunticons had all clustered in the gully, ready and waiting for their cue to attack.

Siphon was _mostly_ behind Megatron – for all his posturing, the two infuriated war-machines glaring at him from the other side of the gully _were_ still fairly terrifying, especially since their anger was focussed mostly upon him and him alone. The heightened emotions were strong enough to be broadcasting fairly publicly; thick, hot layers of _hate_ and _anger _and _murderous desire_.

Skydive looked fairly out of place, but was holding his nerve; he had a firm grip on Calibrator's little shoulder. The analyst herself had her gaze fixed on Siphon, with the sort of intensity in her gaze that suggested she was trying to get a silent response from his radio.

"Oh, don't bother," Skywarp sneered, watching the two former Codustral employees swap meaningful looks. "Like we're gonna let the pair of you plot together in secret."

Calibrator recognised there must be a subspace blocker running. "Oh, we don't have any special plans, do we?" she challenged, airily, and Siphon shook his head. "Just want to be back together."

"All right, Megatron," Starscream interrupted, impatiently. "Let's get this stupid 'exchange' over with. You have something we want, we have something you want. We've shown willing, so you can bring our two out now."

"An _exchange_?" The warlord gave them a disparaging look. "I'm sure you'll correct me if I'm wrong, but is an exchange not normally of items of like value?"

"If rumours are right," Starscream glanced very pointedly at the two Coneheads trying to look like they were a force to be reckoned with in the background, "then you've convinced Thundercracker he's worthless. So to you, it _is_ an exchange of items of like value."

Megatron shot a glare at Thrust, who tried his hardest to look like he _hadn't_ been taunting his former ally over the radio. "Even in the event you're correct, two for one hardly seems a logical choice for me to make," he growled, turning back. A cynical smile pulled at the tyrant's thin lips. "Or are you planning on staying behind as well, Starscream? I know your life wouldn't be complete without unattainable positions to reach for. Unless, of course, you plan on going for _Prime_, now? I'm sure the Autobots would love to indulge you in _that_ little fantasy."

Starscream's lips twitched and his fingers flexed into fists, but he allowed no further indication of his anger. "We're quite happy to stay here in your pockets and keep needling at you until you agree to our terms, Megatron. We want _both_ back, and are not going to make any exception because _you_ don't think it's _fair._"

The whiney tone the red Seeker had finished on was clearly intended to mock.

"My my. Living among _Autobots _has made you brave, Starscream," Megatron drawled. "I don't often recall you daring to take that sort of tone with me _before _your little mutiny, particularly in those times you knew I had no qualms about shooting you."

"Oh, I've known you for quite long enough, Megatron," Starscream sniped, grimly, lifting his chin, arrogantly. "If you were going to shoot me, you would have. You only have the power for such an, ahem… 'witty repartee'… if you aren't trying to power the cannon, too. You have to switch your brain off to run the thing."

"It could be said that's because I'm so very _clever_, my dear Starscream." Megatron forced the words out through a clenched jaw, and stepped forwards one single step; his former second-in-command involuntarily fell back three, and cursed himself quietly for showing a weakness. "And I know you won't shoot _me_, Starscream, because my back isn't turned," he went on, smoothly, recovering his upper hand. "Because for all the supposed skills you flaunt, we all know you lack the iron constitution to actually face me down. You'd rather snipe and disparage with little sneering comments until you're called out on your weaknesses, then throw a tantrum."

"I didn't realise we were here to call each other out on character flaws-"

Skywarp lost patience. "Just bring him out, already," he snapped. "Or I'll go in and _take_ him."

Megatron smiled, pleased at having needled his way back to the upper hand. "All right, gentlemechs. Let's talk business."

0o0o0o0o0

Thundercracker was tired. _So_ tired. His system had run extremely low – even the little aliquots of murky low-grade he'd been partitioning away for even leaner times felt heavy and sludgey in his tanks. Couldn't keep this up much longer. _Didn't want_ to keep this up much longer. Couldn't keep… _hoping_, like this; it was tearing him to pieces.

They weren't coming. He knew they weren't. Left him here to die a long, lingering, poisonous death as that accursed tanker stole every last scrap of self-worth and self-control away from him.

_You're disgusting. Look at you. _Voices echoed from the recent past. Scornful, mocking voices. _Filthy, pathetic. Lower than the sludge we scrape off the garbage processors at the end of every twenty-orn cycle. No wonder they dumped you here. No wonder they __abandoned__ you here. You're worth less than your weight in scrap iron, certainly not worth all the energon we pour in to keep that pathetic spark functioning. What are you?_

_…I'm really depleted. Please_. His own strained, shaky voice was barely recognisable. _All I want is a hookup for long enough to defragment-_

:_crack_: Impact. Flare of pain in the side of his neck. _Answer the question! _

Cycling cool air, trying to steady his systems. Silence.

The demand again; lower, quieter, a hissing snarl like a cornered animal. _Answer. The question._

…_worthless_.

The voice changed, sweetened._ Worthless to __them__, perhaps,_ it whispered, softly. _Not worthless to us. With a little work, we can polish you back to your former glory. You can be great again. Powerful. Clever. A force for change. _

_But I don't-…_

_Just __think on it, friend. Our mighty leader wants only the best for his most loyal_-

The low _slup_ of sound in the middle distance disturbed Thundercracker from his doze, but he didn't bother onlining his optics. It'd just be another faulty memory record, a sensor ghost, triggered back to the surface of his consciousness by those wretched nanites, still lurking in his system. Far better to just… sit still, and quiet, and disconnect himself from the sounds that occasionally plagued him. It'd go away again in time. They always did. Return back to the layer of unconsciousness it had sprung from.

They were right, of course. How could he have been so stupid as to think his wingmates would come after him? He was an unnecessary risk – a dithering, introspective lump of old smelter-waste not fit for scrap. Here was where he belonged – at Megatron's side, loyal to the last, along with all the other monsters.

If only they'd let him out of these contemptible manacles and let him see the _sky_ again. His better wing vibrated softly in distress; they'd promised him repairs and refit, so long as they could source enough parts, but he knew what they meant. _You're untrustworthy. You're a lying, cheating lowlife like everyone else stuck in this Pit, and we wouldn't __dare__ let you up __there__, where you could fly away from this all. You're not fit to fly. Sure we'll rebuild you, but too heavy, too wingless, too ground-bound sluggish to ever get off the dirt ever again. Never again to luxuriate in the simple pleasure of the freedom of the skies-_

"Dack?"

He onlined an optic, surprised, and watched in disbelief as a small figure clambered first into his lap, then up his chassis. "Seem?" he croaked, barely daring to believe his own sensors. This had to be it, he'd cracked and was hallucinating-

The sparkling looked utterly unafraid, which was a dramatic change to the last few times he'd seen him – fleeing from him, running to _Megatron_ for safety and comfort. "Why in here?" he wondered, rubbing cheeks in greeting and humming an anxious little harmonic. "Dack hurt?"

"Primus-… Seem…" He rumbled the words up out of his vents, relieved, and hummed along with him, leaning their heads together. Sure didn't _feel_ like a hallucination. "You're not afraid of me?"

Slipstream gave him a quizzical frown that reminded Thundercracker so much of Skywarp that it was almost painful. "Why to be scared of?"

Well, if the infant saw no reason to be scared of him, he sure wasn't going to _give_ him one, Thundercracker resolved. "Because I'm a big mean old Decepticon?" he creaked, softly.

Slipstream gave him a nervous giggle and headbutted his little helm up under his chin.

Thundercracker allowed himself only a moment or two of self-indulgent _snuggling_ before looking more closely at the concern that had sprung up. "Megatron let you come in here?" he wondered, quietly. It seemed to be at counter-purposes to everything else they had done thus far.

Slipstream shook his head. "Meg'tron not here," he explained. "Gone to see Autobots, outside. So come to help Dack make escape, now got chances!"

Despair pressed swiftly back down between the Seeker's broken wings. The little one had lost his 'jewellery' at some point, but that accursed circle of high-explosives were still firmly fastened around his own neck. "Seem, I've still got a collar on," he reminded, faintly. "There's going to be no getting out of here until Siphon lets me."

Slipstream lifted a heat-lance almost as long as his whole arm with a dramatic flourish. "Can take off."

Thundercracker flickered his optics in a confused blink. "Can… what?"

Slipstream chirped, still unloading tools from his subspace. "Got tools. Can take off!"

"But… how can-…" _What are you doing?_ he scolded himself._ This might be your only chance at getting out and you're trying to get him to _stop_? What's the worst that can happen, anyway – even if he blows you up, at least all this has _ended.

Slipstream was still watching from eager lilac optics, and at last Thundercracker nodded, exhausted. "All right. You're a smart one-" _I __hope__ you're smart enough, even if it doesn't exactly run in the family._ "-I know you can do it. Even if I don't know how."

The sparkling clicked and rubbed cheeks before getting to work. "Watched Deuce," he explained, distractedly, around the screwdriver clamped firmly between his denta. "When took it off Ama. Know how it work."

Of course, he'd very nearly been in the truck's lap as he'd worked, that time, and there was probably a fair amount of memory space in that dark little helm if he'd not already filled it with maps. Still. Thundercracker offlined his optics and tensed, waiting for that abbreviated flicker of hurt as the circuit broke, and the plastic explosives detonated and took his head off. Maybe it would be better for both of them if the sparkling blew the pair of them up, he reasoned, as time dragged past, congealed and slow like old engine oil-

At last there was a little grumble and the motion of air past his audio vents, and when he finally dared to reactivate his visual sensors…

Slipstream lost his balance and slithered to the floor with an _oof!_, a large floppy loop of circuitry in his hands.

Primus! _The little scrap of tin had actually done it_. He'd just… duplicated what Deuce had done, and off it had come. He grinned up at him, half-triumphant, half-shy, and Thundercracker couldn't help smiling back.

"Well done, spark," he praised, relievedly, as the little one clicked and fussed around him.

Getting the cuffs removed from around Thundercracker's wrists was more difficult, but that was partly down to Slipstream's lack of upper-body strength, and partly down to his difficulty in reaching them. Whoever had done up these bolts had been many times stronger than the sparkling, and he was perched precariously on the Seeker's upper arms, his little motors whining with effort, by the time the threads on each finally loosened.

While his uncle worked at getting fuel back into his gravity-starved arms, and recalibrated his actuators, Slipstream investigated the glass, curiously. "Is window?"

Thundercracker glanced up, palming the access flap in his wrist carefully back closed; the cuffs had pinched into fuel-lines and cramped the supply off, but it appeared to be normalising again now his weight was off them. "What did you think it was?"

Slipstream looked back over his shoulder. "Is screen. Mirror. Made pictures of nasty Squishies."

Thundercracker knelt next to him. "You-… you mean… you never saw _me_? Through this?" Pieces of the puzzle were beginning to slot into place, and he immediately felt _oh so __stupid_ for not suspecting it. "And no… no pictures of me? Of Ama?"

Slipstream shook his head. "Only pictures of Squishies," he confirmed, and added, more hushed; "they scary."

"And Megatron-… What-… what was he… telling you?"

"About Decepticon Empire. About home. About war and history." Slipstream examined his little fingers. "Looked after," he admitted, very softly. "Siphon more scarier than Meg'tron am."

Thundercracker gathered him up in an impulsive, relieved hug, and listened as the little one clicked and hummed back. Maybe something of this whole big mess would be salvageable after all! And maybe – just _maybe – _lying about what he'd done to the sparkling wasn't the only thing Siphon had been lying about. It was seeming more and more like this had all just been one big carefully orchestrated plan to cow him into line, to remove any desire to reunite with his wingmates, which Siphon knew would hurt _them_ as much as _him_.

That settled it. He'd spent too long labouring under Siphon's spidery fingers and chemical trickery. If he managed only one more thing in his life before they executed him and broke him into pieces, it was going to be proactive, not just… sitting here, moping for a rescue that might not come until too late, if it came at all.

"Come on then, Seem. We're taking our chance and getting out of here," he whispered, holding out both arms and carefully gathering the youngster to his chest. He knew the door wasn't locked – Siphon had taken great pains to rub his face in his captivity by loudly telling Deuce 'don't bother locking it when you're done, he's not going anywhere'.

"We not hide? Hide is better! Lots of tunnels. Only ways out is past Meg'tron, or make fly," Slipstream tucked himself into his usual spot against the top curve of his guardian's cockpit, cheek against his neck.

_And I don't exactly have a lot of fuel, either. _"Well, that's just what we'll have to do." _Because I'm certainly not leaving you here for even as much as one breem longer than I have to. _

Slipstream stiffened anxiously. "No fly," he said, bluntly. "No fly, and Dack hurt!"

"I know, but we're going to have to risk it." Thundercracker peered out into the corridor, briefly, checked both directions. Dirge was still making oblivious grumbling noises in the distance, and they'd have to somehow get past him, but he'd not spotted them yet, and that was reassuring. "We can't hold out for a rescue if it might never come."

"No fly," the youngling pleaded, quietly.

"We won't go very far," Thundercracker soothed, sneaking as quietly as he could down the corridor. "Just far enough that we can find a place to hide." _And try really hard not to get killed in the process._ But Pit, if the _humans_ could fly a jet aeroplane with only one wing, he was damn sure _he_ could do it. Granted, they had the advantage of aerodynamicity – and speed, if he recalled right! It was less _flying_ and more rocket-impressions – and his root mode wasn't spectacularly optimised for flight, but damn, he had hundreds of millennia of expertise, this should be a doddle.

Now… just to get past Dirge. And the conehead was being quiet, reading something, so he'd hear their footsteps. Damn. The pair hesitated just out of his line of sight in the doorway, and in an instant where Primus was clearly for once smiling in their favour… Deuce looked up and caught his gaze from across the room. The truck instantly made himself look really _really_ busy.

As anticipated, it attracted the Conehead's attention. "What are you doing?" Dirge challenged, softly.

"N-nothing," Deuce backed off, gathering bits of detritus to his chassis and trying vainly to look like he was hiding something behind it. "Just-… nothing."

"What have you got?" Dirge advanced. "Are you stealing something? Give it here, now!"

"M'not stealing anything," Deuce insisted, dithering in the doorway and ensuring the Conehead was advancing on him.

Dirge was getting close. "Is it that sneaky little Mini-Warp you're helping?" he demanded. "Is that why the little bastard was asking me all those questions, working out when it's safest for him to sneak out of here? Well I'm not so stupid as you're thinking! Let him go or I'll fragging well… beat the bolts out of you!"

"Nope. You'll have to come take him!" Deuce bleated, and fled.

"Why you-… come back here!" Dirge vanished down the deeper corridors, hot on Deuce's heels. "I swear, if you don't come here _right now_ you won't live to argue about it much longer…!"

Thundercracker smiled, grimly, as the voices faded out. The scuffed little truck had managed to convince Dirge that not only was he sneaking about and up to no good, he had also abducted the sparkling! Well done, that mech. The longer Dirge's optic was elsewhere, the better. Now to make the most of it – wouldn't be fair to let their helper get beaten to slag for nothing.

Making sure Slipstream was still snug in his arms, Thundercracker trotted across the control room, and into the corridor that led to the air gate. He'd heard the Coneheads discussing their dislike of using the narrow door on the clifftop, and hoped it'd still be unguarded.


	27. Chapter 26

**Warped - Chapter Twenty Six  
**

**Disclaimer: **As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N: **Hmnn. Another week/month, another chapter. Still plodding away. I hope this chapter is a smidgen better than the last.

Rant for the day: Why oh WHY did The Powers That Be have to name femme!Scream on TF:A "Slipstream"? Why? WHY? :pulls frustratedly on hair: Uuurgh. It's got confusing.

* * *

Having had a significant hand in helping Siphon _dig_ them, Deuce was familiar with almost every inch of the maze of tunnels that wound deep into the bedrock beneath the little Amarna outpost. He knew how deep they ran, how wide they were, how many twists and turns and junctions they formed, and was hoping he could lead the pursuing Decepticon into the narrower sections where his bulkier, more angular frame couldn't follow.

…unfortunately, and before he could put the plan into action, the "_almost_ every inch" part of the sentence proved to be the critical part.

Relying on his memory to navigate, and not by watching where he was going, Deuce tripped over an unseen ridge in the rocky floor and went sprawling on his front. Armour crunched and his windscreen broke with a sharp, high _crack_, but he didn't allow himself the luxury of tending the injuries – he was immediately tottering back to his feet-

Before the truck could fully recover his footing and set back off, Dirge – not having been making _any_ effort to watch where they were going – tripped on the exact same ridge in the rough hewn tunnel, and landed hard on top of his quarry, crushing him straight back into the sandstone. "Got you now!" he crowed, triumphantly, as if it had been planned all along. "You little blot of purge, you better start squeaking-!"

"Don't hurt me, don't hurt me!" Deuce bleated, lacing his hands over the back of his head. "Please don't hurt me!"

"I won't hurt you – much – if you hand that little bastard over," the Conehead snarled into his audio, morbidly satisfied as the smaller machine cringed away from him. "You thought you could outsmart me, huh? Well I'm no Skywarp, I can see your plan. Get that little mobile heap of spares out of here, leave us without a bargaining chip, is that it? What do _you _get in exchange?"

Deuce continued to just babble incoherently into the sandy floor, and Dirge's patience was ebbing swiftly. He caught a hand under the truck's shoulder and rolled him over, prompting another rapidly curtained squeal and flinch.

"All right, last chance," Dirge snarled, quietly, pinning his quarry with a knee on his chest. "Hand him over, and I won't feel like I gotta take you apart bit by bit to get to him."

Deuce stared silently up at him, optics wide, frozen in alarm.

"Wait, waait-…" The pennies were beginning to drop, and Dirge's expression quickly went from snarling threat to veiled dismay. "Where _is _the sparkling?"

Deuce's lips moved, wordlessly, and he shook his head.

"Where is the little blob of smelt?!" Dirge yanked him up off the floor and gave him a shake, cracking his head against the wall. "I swear, if you don't tell me-!"

The blow to the head broke the dam holding the words back. "I don't know where he is!" Deuce choked out. "I don't know I don't know I swear I haven't seen him all orn I guess he must be hiding from you cuz you're a Decepticon and you're scary and he's little and he can get in places to hide from you and-"

Dirge dropped him, disgustedly. "He never normally hides from me. Fragging wish he _would_, stop the little creep _staring_ at me all… the… time…" Veiled dismay abruptly turned into stunned horror as he belatedly realised what must have been going on. "Aw _fuck_! It's TC, isn't it? The little fragger's gone after him…" He was off up the corridor like a bolt of startled lightning, abandoning his prey in the dirt, hoping he wasn't going to be too late.

Deuce lay where he'd been abandoned, vented hot air in relief, and thanked Primus that the Decepticon had better things to worry about than Siphon's little psychiatrically-challenged hanger-on…

0o0o0o0o0

Right from the start, Surefire hadn't been the most comfortable with the whole pretending-to-be-her-roommate business – seemed to be _way _too much like tempting the Pit (or at very least Siphon) to come crashing down around her audios – so when she happened to glance up at the right time and noticed them all looking at her… It wasn't too surprising that she chose to shrink back against the closest Aerialbot, trying (without much success) to blend in and vanish against his armour.

Watching from a nearby clifftop, Siphon wrinkled his lip and tried not to look disappointed, interpreting the deception exactly as Starscream had intended. "Should have known that stupid little bike would just brush everything off as if it never happened," he sniffed, disparagingly. "Three-orn memories, the lot of them. Good job I had a second subject to devote more energy to-"

"That stupid little bike is _my_ stupid little bike," Skywarp snapped, wings bristling, and it was only Starscream getting in the way stopped him going for the tanker then and there; Siphon all but _dove_ behind Megatron for safety. "You better watch whose territory you're stomping all over, you _stupid little truck_!" He stabbed a finger in a point.

Siphon laughed, nervously. "Anyone would think you had a soft spot for the jumble of old spares."

"The only reason I haven't shot you – yet," Skywarp explained, softly, "is because I want Thundercracker back more than I want you dead. But right now? I'm on the point of saying slag it and shooting a hole through your spark chamber."

Megatron sighed, elaborately, struggling to ignore the quarrelling pair, and instead gave his former second a long, serious look. "You and I need to talk-"

Starscream cut in bullishly with a nigh-immediate; "there's nothing for us to talk about." He folded his arms, trying to look more fearsome than he felt. "You need to bring my wingmate and the little one out, you need to hand them over, then you need to leave us _the slag _alone."

As though the red Seeker had never spoken, Megatron inclined his head very slightly, and said, more clearly; "We need. To talk."

A beat of silence passed. "All right. I'll indulge you," Starscream offered, genially, even though his dark chin came up in an arrogant perk. "Talk."

"As magnanimous as ever, I see," Megatron growled back. "Push your luck much further and I _will_ shoot you."

Starscream smirked, but remained silent.

"I am willing to make an… _exception_," Megatron allowed, grimly. "As it stands right now, you are destined to join the Autobots as a convenient target to shoot at." He gave Skydive a very pointed look, at which the Aerialbot shrank back – just a fraction, but enough to be noticed. There was a beat of silence, and then the grudging addition of; "But. You're good warriors, and I don't really want to have you written off as lost to the cause."

"…you're inviting us _back_?" The emotion in the scarlet jet's tones was mostly uninterpretable – he sounded like he was torn between incredulous laughter, sneering disdain, and being almost honoured by the unexpected compliment.

"After a fashion?" Megatron inclined his head. "Yes."

"What in Primus name do you think you could possibly use to persuade us back alongside _you_ after everything you've done to us-?"

"Don't listen to him, Screamer, he just wants the sparklings," Skywarp argued, in a stage whisper beside his wingmate's audios.

Megatron glared at the interruption. "If it means so much to you? Your, ah… '_friends_'… can remove them back to Cybertron." He made a face. "Much as it pains me to inform you, the pair of you are worth more to me than the little ones are-"

"Megatron!" Dirge's voice blared out of nowhere, making no effort to check who was in hearing distance. "_Megatron_! Thundercracker's out, he's escaped! Come quick, come quick and we can still catch him-!"

Skywarp was off like a streak of black lightning before most mechs present had even finished processing the thought. -_comeoncomeoncomeon_!- he pinged urgently across his and Starscream's private waveband. -_gotta get to him first!_-

Megatron gave a _roar_ of anger and backhanded Siphon hard enough across the face to send him flying. "You… stupid, worthless lump of smelter waste!" he bellowed, infuriated, stomping towards him, cannon raised. "I thought you swore to me that he had no possible way of escaping?!"

Siphon was already scuttling away backwards on all fours. "He can't have got out alone, he must have had help!" he yelped, clawing gouges into the rocks beneath his scrabbling fingers in his haste to get up and away. "He must have had help!"

"Enough!" Vicious purple fire stabbed the ground next to the cowering machine, shocking him into a whimpery mostly-silence. "I'll deal with you later. Ramjet! Thrust! _If you two don't stop gawping at me like half-sparked scrapheaps_-!"

The rest of the threat could be happily left unspoken – the two were in the air and scrambling into action so fast, it was as though he'd lit firecrackers under them.

"So sorry we couldn't finish our discussion, Megatron," Starscream sniped, darkly. "And it had been _so nice _to watch you take the humble road, and admit _you need me_."

A flash of cannon fire strafed past his shoulder vent closely enough to sizzle black marks into the enamel and startle him into the air. "This is your last chance, Starscream," the tyrant boomed, his expression thunderous. "If you go now, the offer goes with it."

"I'm sure I'll find a way to survive," Starscream retorted, hovering. "I'm sure I can undermine your command a lot more easily from a distance. I bet there's plenty of disillusioned machines out there who'd take kindly to a new leader. One who doesn't keep them _grounded_."

Megatron's fists had closed into hard black knots of anger, but before he could speak, Calibrator seized her chance.

"Mighty Megatron!" her voice rang out like a clarion call above the low engine sounds. "If you head to the flood plain right now, I think you'll find the other sparkling fairly poorly defended! Recoup your losses while you ca-"

He voice died in a gurgle of static; Starscream had twisted around and shot out her voicebox with a single, surgical-precise blast from his null rays.

"Get her out of here!" he shrieked at Skydive, his own voice high and loud enough to be painful. It was _particularly_ infuriating to see her still _smirking_ at him around the pain.

The Aerialbot needed no second bidding, he was off like a shot, hot on Skywarp's departing thrusters.

"Don't think this ends here, Megatron," Starscream promised, thrusters purring just hard enough to keep him hanging motionless in the sky. "It ends when _that_ blob of smelt-waste not fit for scrap," he stabbed a finger in a point at Siphon, "is greyed out, melted down and buried under half the desert."

"No, Starscream." Megatron spoke quietly to the departing thrusters, never intending him to hear. "It'll only end when your trine is out of the picture."

0o0o0o0o0

It had been surprisingly easy to get off the ground, Thundercracker had found – fling yourself over the cliff edge and fire your thrusters and there was _just_ enough momentum there to get a bit of lift under your wings. The moment of alarm when he skimmed low enough to almost scuff his chassis over the desert floor passed quickly in the exhausted sort of euphoria that they were _out_ and he was _flying. __Flying_! Still shedding tiny chips of armour in his wake, but Primus, the soft caress of even the scorching desert air under his wings was _bliss_.

Sadly, and exactly as anticipated, it was a different story when his meagre stash of fuel ran out.

"Okay, hang on tight-!" he instructed, needlessly. Slipstream was all but moulded against him, his tiny fingers wound like painful crampons into the cabling around his neck, optics offline and face pressed into him; the big Seeker endured the spots of pain in the same silent way the sparkling endured being airborne.

Thundercracker managed a few hundred yards before the ground rushed up towards them, leaving him only a few astro-seconds to pull up to try and break his fall. He stretched his thrusters out in front of him and hit the ground hard, already running… but had far too much momentum behind him, and he was going too fast to maintain his balance for very far. He managed a few unsteady lurching steps before tripping over his own thrusters, crashing through a stand of juvenile date palms and digging a spectacular face-first trench with his shoulders. He _just_ managed to fling Slipstream away before his uncontrolled landing had the chance to go even more spectacularly wrong and he ended up crushing the little one him underneath himself.

Slipstream squeaked in alarm and tumbled away through the weeds, but didn't seem particularly badly damaged, as he bounced straight back with only a few scrapes in his paintwork and stray bits of vegetation clinging around him. "Dack hurt? Hurt bad? I see, make better?" The youngster squirmed up into his arms and hummed comfortingly, attempting to remove the broken chunks of palm trunk from his venting.

"It's ok, it's ok," the broken jet wheezed, trying to get him to stop; much as he appreciated the little one's concern, it hurt having him poke around in his injuries. "I'm all right, I'll be ok…"

Their escape clearly hadn't gone unnoticed – Dirge bore down on them like a fury, engines wailing discordance, determined to pay them back for making him look stupid. Badly-targeted laser-fire spattered around them like stinging raindrops, igniting the tinder-dry undergrowth, but that wasn't what had Thundercracker's shattered attention. The trail of exhaust from the incoming missile that splodged bruise-coloured smoke across the azure sky was far more concerning-

He offlined his optics and curled down over Slipstream, hitching his one good wing just a little; Primus, if the crash had been painful, this was going to be _agony_… "Stay here, spark, stay here," he instructed, feebly; Slipstream burrowed obediently into his arms, shaking violently with fear, sizzling with static. "That's it, good lad…"

There was a breath of air and the scuffing noise of something moving over sand-

The air tore violently apart with the hideous, thundering _boom_ of the detonation, very _very_ close at hand, so loud it made his audios buzz with distortions, and yet… the wave of debris and the excruciating heat and pain he'd been expecting never came. He onlined an optic, and peeked warily out from under his arm. A big blue-and white blob had appeared in the space in front of him.

"I've got the commander," a familiar voice reported, grimly. "But we're pinned down, and I'm not sure how long my shield will hold up for."

"Celerity?" he wheezed, feebly, managing to unfold himself. Her ping responded with the right ident and the voice was right, even if it sure didn't _look_ like her.

The big policebot cast a concerned look over her blue shoulder, and gave him a grim smile. "Easy up, there, sir," she soothed. "We've got you now." She was on one knee in a defensive position in front of him, her arm up in front of her, using her in-built riot-shield as an impromptu bomb-shelter. The edges of the forcefield still fizzed and crackled with purplish electrical discharge in the aftermath of the explosion.

"We? Who's we?" he wondered, trying to sit up but unable to get the coordination into his limbs. _Maybe they're here for the sparklings, and I'm just in a convenient place for a rescue. _He didn't dare hope it might be his brothers, but… _Primus, please let them be friendly, whoever they are-_

"Steady, steady-…" She caught him as he slumped over in the opposite direction. "You all right there?"

"Just… sleepy," he lied, managing to prop himself upright between his arms. "Damn Siphon and his knockout drops. I'll be all right in a moment or two…"

"Good, 'cuz Megatron didn't say you could go, yet," an obnoxious voice supplied, and – belatedly – the trio realised that Thrust had landed in the immediate aftermath of the explosion, using their volume-destabilised hearing to sneak up on them unnoticed. The Conehead was now approaching, weapons primed and filling the air with a high, angry mosquito-noise.

Celerity placed herself carefully between them, making sure her pose let their attacker knew she meant business, her riot-shielding still glittering sporadic purple as she moved. "You want him, you'll have to get through me first," she cautioned, softly.

Thrust gave her a measuring look; she was about his height, maybe a fraction shorter, but certainly _massed_ a lot more. Femme she may have been, but small and defenceless she most certainly wasn't. "You challenging me, femme?" he chuckled.

"Not challenging," she argued. "_Telling_."

"Well, OK, I can work with that, I like 'em a bit feisty. And I always did like a femme with a nice bit of kibble on her!" Thrust jeered, with a lascivious smile and a lewd, clutching gesture. "Tell you what. I'll go easy on you," he offered, sweetly. "You just… lay back, relax, and do what I tell you, and maybe I won't feel like I've gotta kill all three of you."

"I'm not planning on making anything easy for you," she demurred. "And my spark is not freely accessible to any old interface-starved mech who wants it."

Thrust sneered. "We'll see about that."

Celerity frowned and opened her mouth to challenge him further… The only noise that escaped her vocaliser was an involuntary _yerp!_ as a pair of strong hands seized her arms and dragged them behind her, staggering her off-balance. "What in the-"

"Hold her still, RJ," Thrust jeered, knowingly, rubbing his hands. "I think I _earned_ this-"

"Yeah, well, save some for me," Ramjet cautioned, struggling to keep Celerity's arms pinned. "And hurry it up, will you?!" The femme was at an awkward angle and couldn't quite get her arms free, but she had the edge of strength over him and was already working herself loose.

"Ohh no, I plan on _savouring_ this-"

That was as far as the red jet got, because he was now _just _close enough. Celerity dumped her weight squarely back onto Ramjet and swung both feet up, and even as he _oof!_-ed and staggered under her bulk, she kicked out. Her heels connected solidly with Thrust's jaw a microsecond or two before Ramjet finally lost his footing and collapsed, groaning as she landed squarely on top of him.

Thrust made a most satisfying noise of hurt and lurched backwards. "Ow! Oh damn, _ow_! Ohh _fuck _am I ever going to _get you_ for that," he swore, unsteadily, his jaw hanging at a strange, apparently-disconnected angle on one side. "No more Nice Thrust." He directed his attention at Ramjet. "Gonna try keep a hold of her this time, purge-for-brains?"

"Just-… get her off me," Ramjet moaned, struggling to push her off. "She needs to shed a bit of tonnage, cuz she's fragging _heavy_-"

"Yeah, well, better get used to it, because so's her sister!" a loud voice added, and before Thrust could react, Vector piled in from behind.

Leaving the two riot-bots to deal with the coneheads, Thundercracker seized his chance to put a bit of distance between them, and crawled deeper into his little clump of vegetation. Most of the little fires had gone out, but he wouldn't have cared if it had been an inferno, and away from what and where he was going, he had no idea. So long as it was _away_. Slipstream followed him, anxiously, fingers gripping at the rear edge of his good wing.

Voices were approaching, and quickly. He couldn't quite make out who they were, with distortions still plaguing his hearing – just that they were sharp, harsh-edged. Staccato. Urgent.

"…Thundercracker!"

"Primus, TC-!"

He wasn't sure why, but he flinched back nevertheless, ended up cowering on his aft. _Don't hurt me, don't hurt me._

The bodily impacts felt like half the Autobot army had all simultaneously assaulted him; he flinched, trembling, waited for the pain to start. They'd wrestle the youngling away, steal him away to somewhere 'safe' where they could securely indoctrinate him as an Autobot, and leave the stupid broken jet to grey out in the middle of nowhere, dusty and dirty and already falling to pieces-

Familiar static envelopes merged and harmonised. This wasn't the disaffected touch of the enemy trying to bundle him out of the way. Not the sharp violence of overprotective Autobots trying to 'rescue' the sparkling. Felt like – Primus above – felt like his wingmates, but-… they were angry. _Of course _they were angry. He didn't blame them. Probably going to teach him a lesson for being such a-a sparkless, useless idiot. He cringed, anyway, trying to pull back, pull out of reach. _Please don't hurt me, I didn't mean to do it_.

Hands had fastened around him – hands, arms, unyielding as steel bands in this weakened state. He could only sit, and listen, and wait, and…

At last, it finally sank through all the cloying layers of fear and exhausted sorrow to the core of his consciousness that all the _anger _and _hate _that was broadcasting so thick and hot across their nonverbal communications relays… wasn't directed at him. It was directed at some outside influence. The only unspoken thoughts being directed at him were ones of comfort and concern and… love. _They didn't hate him. They still cared._

Relief crashed like something palpable around him. Thoroughly ashamed of himself but unable to stop it, his vocaliser hitched, and suddenly he was capable of nothing but soft static – unable to speak and unable to stop it. He wound his fingers as tight as he could around the closest set of arms, and listened as the frantic, excited clicks and chirps turned into soft murmurs and soothing hums. Even if it was just a hallucination (and the whole public-display-of-affection from _Starscream _was strongly suggesting it was), he decided he didn't mind, so long as he didn't have to _leave_ it. Because it was a _good_ hallucination, a _reassuring _hallucination, and gave him the teeniest tiniest bit of confidence that maybe they could actually fix this mess. And the trine was complete again. He hadn't broken it. He might have messed up bigtime, but he hadn't broken the trine.

"…m'sorry." The broken words just dripped their own way out of his vocaliser, with no particular conscious control. "…didn'-… didn't mean… so weak…"

"Shh," a voice soothed. "Don't apologise. It wasn't your fault."

"…but-…"

"_Don't _apologise. Please. Don't."

A set of excruciatingly gentle fingers brushed along the margins of his wings, soothingly, and he relaxed into the touch, letting the apologies fizzle back to nothing.

Over the top of their wingmate's poor battered helm, Skywarp swapped a grim look with Starscream. -_Not gonna let this slide, Screamer-_ he pinged, needlessly, as though the red Seeker could possibly be of some other opinion. -_gonna get him a million times over_-

Starscream nodded, keeping up his comforting touches along Thundercracker's wings. -_D__on't be impulsive_- he counselled, -_get him back __together_-

-_Sure, sure_-

Starscream gave him That Look, the one that said he knew what the teleport was planning on – doing the exact opposite of what was sensible – but didn't push it. He knew that if the opportunity presented itself, he himself would probably take on all Thundercracker's tormentors singlehanded.

-_Skywarp, Starscream? Better come_- A new voice came over their (not-very-)private(-any-more) waveband; Forceps, and she sounded stressed. -_Coneheads here for Lucy. Can't hold them off_-

"Aw, frag. Did you hear that?" the teleport wondered, grimly, straightening up a little.

Starscream nodded, darkly. "Just a _breem_ of peace and quiet, to get us back together," he growled, sighing hot air from his vents. "Is that _really _too much to ask?" He rose to his feet, irritably, nonetheless maintaining a comforting hand on his wingmate's shoulder vet. "Come on. Sooner we gather everyone together the sooner we can get out of this dust-bowl."

Skywarp nodded his agreement, clambering to his feet and trying not to trample his injured wingmate in the process, and a pair of dark hands clutched feebly at him – _don't leave me, don't go…! Stay with me._

Skywarp peeled Thundercracker off his arm, gently, then laced their fingers together. "We'll be back, I promise. Okay?_ I promise_."

Hazy maroon optics gazed beseechingly up at him. _Don't leave me here._

"We're not gonna abandon you," Skywarp promised, softly, squeezing his fingers. "And we'll make sure there's someone to stay with you. Just gotta make sure _everyone_'s out of Megatron's grip before we get out of here. All right?"

Thundercracker gazed at him for a few seconds longer before allowing his fingers to slacken, reluctantly. "…all right," he croaked, hoarsely, letting his hand slip away. Now he'd _found_ them, he really didn't want his brothers to go running off again… but deep down his broken psyche knew there was more at stake than denying his need to be close to them. At least they'd shown him they weren't angry with him. He could be patient.

"Look after him, Verity," Skywarp instructed, and was pushing on into the hunt before Celerity had even had the chance to voice her agreement.

"_Verity_?" the big femme echoed, confusedly, watching him rapidly dwindle out of sight, but he was already out of audio range.

A little set of fingers threaded through her own, and when Celerity glanced down she found Slipstream attempting to hide by her legs, fingers of his free hand up in his mouth. "Hello, Slipstream," she greeted, gently. "How are you?"

"Suishies," he observed, quietly, instead of answering the question.

"Hmm?" She followed his gaze, and found a number of those strange, soft-bodied natives had clustered closer, curiously. "They won't hurt you when I'm around," she promised, squeezing his fingers.

"Suishies want to take," he elaborated, shaking his head.

"Want to take… what?"

"Me." He retreated a little further behind her, still clinging to her hand.

"They won't take you anywhere," the big femme promised, gently. "They're just curious, and they're more scared of you than you are of them."

The sparkling hummed uneasily; they didn't look like the Squishies that had stolen him and Thundercracker away in the first place, but he didn't like them watching him, regardless of their intentions.

"Come on." Celerity scooped him up into her arms. "Let's go and sit with Thundercracker, shall we?"

"Unnol Dack hurt," he observed, softly, as they settled in just the right place for Thundercracker to lean up against the policebot without making it _too _obvious how shattered he was.

"I know. But we've got him now, and we can make him better."

Thundercracker listened, quietly appreciative of the gentle words, and just… _hoped_.

0o0o0o0o0

Large and powerfully-built she may have been, but defending herself (and a sparkling) against three heavily armed Decepticon warriors was _not_ what Forceps had been designed for.

The three jets had appeared a few astro-seconds after Starscream's confirmatory ping that they'd found both Thundercracker and Slipstream, and they'd made it very clear they didn't care who they had to go through to get to Footloose. The blue one appeared first, making some cryptic observation about recouping his losses any way he had to, and on his own he'd been hard enough to tackle, but when the other two showed up? It quickly went from trying to fend them off to just physically getting in the way long enough for Footloose to flee, and _still_ the sparkling hadn't taken the hint and gone!

"Why haven't you got out of here yet?" Forceps exclaimed, infuriated, dodging a blow.

"Day said to stay with Ausep!" Footloose bleated, paralysed. She'd seen these three before, when they'd rescued Sta'zim out of the mud, and that time the Airlybots had come and rescued them! And she _knew_ the Airlybots were about this time, but they hadn't come to save them and what if everyone wanted her to get caught, really?!

"He told you to do what I tell you and I'm telling you to get out of here!" Forceps boomed, her expression black as thunder, and that finally convinced the sparkling to move.

Dirge had at last broken through the meagre defences and was advancing when a smudge of violet light advertised the little one's vanishing act. "Aw, _slag it_."

Ramjet was far from impressed. "Where did it go?" he demanded, watching as his wingmates finally took the initiative and claimed the femme as a prisoner. Maybe they could _interrogate_, or _bribe _their way to a success.

Forceps stared him out, boldly, not even attempting to struggle free from the pair that held her. "Away from you," she replied, grimly, and got a punch in the face for her trouble.

"Where. Did it go?" Ramjet repeated, lowering his voice.

The blow had been hard enough to fracture her cheek, a thin streamer of energon outlining one of the seams between plates, but the surgeon still met his gaze, resolutely. "Away," she repeated, using the same tone of voice that Ramjet had just used, "from you."

Bad enough that he'd been sat on and half-crushed by that fat, stupid Autobot, but having this _unarmed_, _Neutral_ femme mock him too? Ramjet saw red. "You glitching slag!" he swore, drawing back his fist-

A lance of brilliant purple drilled down out of nowhere and sliced a neat channel across the backs of all his fingers. He gave an unashamed _yelp! _of pain and promptly lost his balance, staggering into Thrust.

"Can't the three of you do _anything_ without it all going to the Pit in a handcart?" a familiar, scathing voice rang out from above. "No wonder even _Skywarp _outranked you!"

Ramjet gave a strangled howl of anger and threw himself at his former comrade, determined to pull his arms out of his sockets, like human children did to bugs.

Starscream smiled and gunned his thrusters, leading him away.

0o0o0o0o0

Siphon had followed the bulk of the Decepticon hunting pack down onto the flood-plain at a more sedate speed; self-preservation was (normally) one of his specialities, and getting his unarmed self stuck between the two factions here? Was _not_ his idea of fun.

While the big guns were away in the distance, though, he could at least work on his own agenda! It didn't take very long at all to track down the familiar face he'd seen earlier, and corner her between two of the low, whitewashed houses. "Well hello there, pretty," he cooed, sweetly. "How nice – how _unexpected – _to see you again."

"Y-you stay back," Surefire told him, her pistol up and armed; she'd turned on the little targeting laser to let him know she meant business, but it jittered unsteadily across him.

"What if I don't want to?" He stroked his fingers along her antennae, and she made a noise of distaste and jerked her head back.

"Don't touch me," she threatened, unsteadily, backing further away.

"Or you'll do what?" Siphon's lips pulled back in a smirk. "Scaredy little Deixar police, so used to everything being quiet and dull and predictable, you don't have the _first idea_ what to do when things get tough, do you?"

It was _mostly_ accidental – but it had the desired effect. Surefire tensed up in alarm, squeezed the trigger, and shot the tanker in the thigh.

Siphon lurched backwards, swearing noisily, and the instant he made himself visible, Skywarp was onto him. The teleport exploded out of nowhere and crashed bodily into him.

"HA! Got you now, you stinking pipeline!" the dark Seeker crowed, triumphantly, pinning him with his weight. "You better be ready to meet the Unmaker, you filthy little blot of slag-"

"Don't hurt me don't hurt me it wasn't my fault I was only following instructions!" Siphon squealed, instantly, putting his arms up in front of his face. "I was only doing what Cali told me!"

"Sure you were," Skywarp sneered, unimpressed, closing his fingers almost tenderly around the cabling in his prey's neck. "Cause you're too _stupid_ to think up a plan like that all by yourself, right?"

"I am _not_ stupid-" Siphon bristled, then _yelped_ as the probing fingers jerked quickly on a nonessential cable and tore it from its connectors.

"Say you're sorry."

The fingers were already plucking at another connector, connecting his positioning array to his core processor. "S-sorry for what?"

"_Say_," Skywarp narrowed his optics and gave the cable a tug, "you're _sorry_."

"I-I think you're operating under a delusion-!"

There was another of those deep, painful yanks, jerking at components right across his chest, and his positional awareness flickered out.

"Last chance, Tubes." Skywarp whispered, closing his fingers on another cable. "Next thing to go is your voice, and _then_ what are you gonna do, hmm?" His hands sorted carefully through the assortment of wires and found the main energon supply line. "Or perhaps I should just let you see what it feels like to have your spark fizzle out in there…?"

Footloose's alarm call made him jump, and distracted him before he could deal the killer blow – and her little siren seemed quieter than normal. Frag it. She must be getting tired, low on energon – which would mean she would be skipping shorter and shorter distances with her teleport. It was only a matter of time before someone nabbed her, and he better make damn sure it was someone _friendly_-

Siphon seized his chance and in the split-second that Skywarp's attention wasn't solely on him, thrust his nozzle hand upwards, like a weapon. He was badly positioned to catch the teleport's throat, but scored a beautiful, vicious blow to his face, clean in his left eye.

Skywarp howled in pain and fell backwards, hands up over his face. Siphon bucked underneath him, disturbing his precarious balance, and the second the Seeker had slumped backwards, the tanker was gone.

"Are you all right? Skywarp? Sir? Are you ok?"

Skywarp stared up into Surefire's blurry features for a moment or two, then nodded. "I will be," he confirmed, grimly, using his fingers to examine the chip the tanker had gouged out of his optic. "Primus. _Ow_."

0o0o0o0o0

This was not a nice place, Footloose decided, cowering just out of sight behind a plant and watching through the leaves as the pointy-headed silver mech prowled along the edge of the river, looking for her. No, not a nice place at all. It was dusty and dirty and full of Suishies, and the sand was getting in all her joints and vents, and the heat was making her fans huff with effort. And she'd got too close to the water for comfort, she couldn't swim, and the mud was thick and sucked at her feet, and she was too tired to teleport very far. It was only a matter of time before they spotted her here.

She watched until the big silver mech vanished just out of sight, then took her chance, heading in the opposite direction – _ughh_, the mud was horrible. She'd never say no bath ever again, she resolved, wallowing through the knee-deep black murk. Not even if Ausep made her use _soap_. Had to find somewhere to hide. Had to find somewhere _safe_ to sit until all the scary big mechs went away. There had to be plenty of little places that only she could get to, around here-!

"There you are! Thank goodness. We thought they'd caught you!"

The unexpected voice made her jump, landing on her aft in the mud; she'd been so busy watching for Pointy-Head to come back, she'd not seen the smaller, dirty-greenish mech approach from the opposite direction. She scooted away backwards, urgently. "Who you? Go way!" she squeaked, anxiously.

"It's all right. I'm a friend. Your auntie sent me to find you," the strange green mech reassured, with a peculiar lopsided smile. "Let me take you to her."

Footloose stood, but dithered, anxiously. The stranger was holding out his hand to her, and he _looked_ friendly enough, but... she wasn't sure about it. In one way, she felt like she should be scared of him, because he might be a bad mech and Cally had proved that some machines _acted _nice when they were actually _not _nice, but in another way she just wanted to be rescued out of the mud, and if he could do that for her, then...

"Come on, Button, quickly!" He leaned a little further, not wanting to get much closer in case he himself sank in the mud. "He's coming back."

She gave him an indecisive look. She didn't recognise him, and he hadn't come here with the Airlybots. But he said he knew Ausep, and had called her 'Button'. Only her friends knew that name.

"Come on," he insisted, in a growl, and there was a flicker of something frustrated and nasty and dark in his expression.

Footloose made up her mind. He was not a nice mech, and she should get out of his reach. She twisted to run-... but the thick, sucking mud refused to let go of her foot quickly enough, toppling her immediately into a fall. "Aih!" She put out her arms to catch herself, but had already thoroughly churned up the mud and her hands skidded away beneath her, landing her face-first in it.

The stranger's hand flashed forwards, and long, spindly fingers closed around her neck-

0o0o0o0o0

Skywarp was _seething_. He and Surefire were hunting down between the low houses for that wretched half-fragged underclocked pipeline – the marksbot was tagging along behind to make up for the teleport's visual deficits – but so far they'd found nothing. And Skywarp was mostly distracted, anyway, most of his fury directed inward, squarely at himself.

_Just _howstupid_ do you have to be, Skywarp?_ he wondered, grimly._ You _know _you failed (spectacularly) at killing him properly last time, so what do you go and do? Oh yeah, that's right. Gloat over him and let him escape _again_! And to cap it all, you yank out the little bastard's positioning array, so you can't even _find_ him. See, you can bitch all you like but there was always a very good reason that you were just the grunt, and that's cause you're _too slagging stupid_ to do anything on your own initiative without fragging it all the way to the Pit!_

"Oh, Skyy-warp? I think I have something belonging to you!"

The amused, sing-song voice jerked him rudely out of his angry daydream. Skywarp skidded to a halt, alarmed, and turned… to come face to face with the very situation he'd been dreading.

Footloose was offline, probably sedated; her optics were dim, her limbs dangled slackly, and she was so filthy it looked like she must have put up quite a spirited fight, all through the mud at the side of the Nile. That wasn't what made anger crash through his mind, however, obliterating almost all rational thought as it went.

No, what did _that_ was seeing Siphon's long fingers folded neatly around Footloose's neck, and his nozzle hovering a fraction of a hairsbreadth from her slack lips.

Skywarp lurched forwards, expression as black as a thundercloud. "Now you're going _too far_, Tubes," he snarled. "If you don't stop that _right now_-"

"Ah-ah-ah," the tanker scolded, sweetly, finally setting his nozzle actually _into _the sparkling's mouth. "If you value the health of your offspring… you'll just stop right where you are. I'd hate to be forced to fill the little dear with poison… or whatever else I may have in my tanks. Cement, perhaps."

Skywarp froze, instantly, hands curling into involuntary fists.

Siphon's lips drew back in a satisfied smile. "There's a good mech," he cooed, sweetly, as though praising an animal. "Now get down on your knees, and put your hands behind your head, and I'll let your _dear_ little fluff-headed bondmate…" He paused, and cast a mocking look at Surefire. "…come and relieve me of the sparkling. We'll discuss the antidote to the sedative once I'm happy you're under my control."

"Put her down first, and I'll think about it."

"No no no, that's not how it works." The tanker smiled, darkly. "Surely a Decepticon, of all mechs, knows the principles behind hostage taking? Either you do what I tell you, right down to the very _letter_, or your little one remains offline. Forever."

"I _knew_ I should have just _killed you_-!"

"But you didn't, did you? Both times you had me, and both times you wasted the opportunity. Now _get o__n your knees_, or she stays permanently incapacitated."

They faced each other silently for several long moments.

"What do you want?" Skywarp asked, at last, softly.

"What do I want? Simple." Siphon quirked his head to one side. "You."

"…me?" Skywarp felt the first needlings of genuine alarm prickling like static along his wings. "What for?"

"I have a score to settle. You left me for dead, at the bottom of the rift, so broken I could scarcely move, going slowly insane from the addiction I could not feed. It's only fair I get to do the same to you."

"I didn't _mean _to leave you like that! You should have _died_-! Anyone else would have!"

"No, _you_ should have _made sure_ I was dead!" the sociopath snapped, jabbing his nozzle harder into the captive sparkling's intakes; she twitched in spite of her sedation, apparently still able to feel pain. "Not _abandon_ me to a fate that was _worse_! Now get on your knees!"

Skywarp clenched his jaw tight enough to damage the plating, but he did as instructed; settled onto his knees and put his hands behind his head. Good to his word, Siphon let Surefire dart in and claim Footloose; the sparkling remained floppy, like a badly-made cloth doll.

"Now open your mouth," Siphon instructed, coldly.

Skywarp dithered, angrily. Couldn't just do what-… but had to. Footloose sagged helplessly where Surefire held her to her chest; the Policebot shook her head. _We'll find some other way. Some other cure._

"I won't give her the antidote unless you do as you're told," Siphon reminded, softly, attracting his attention back. "But then, I don't know, maybe you're glad to get rid of the little ankle-biter. Little Slipstream is _so_ much more amenable to teaching."

"Just-… get on with it," the teleport growled, trying not to look as beaten as he felt, and remained still as the tanker advanced, smiling.

Siphon was about as gentle as ever – braced his fingers against Skywarp's helm, and _shoved_ _hard_ on the other hand. Skywarp jerked backwards with a hiss as the tip of the nozzle scoured a layer of analytical filters off the back of his intakes, and voiced a muffled cry of pain as the toxic chemical shorted out a dozen more components.

His last view before the world went despairingly grey was of Thrust appearing out of nowhere and wrestling Footloose out of Surefire's arms, giving the Autobot a good slug around the audios and sending her sprawling when she resisted. _Smooth move, Skywarp. You knew he'd double cross you. Now he's got _both _of you. You s__tupid fragging… underclocked brainless lump of old slag._

"…_nnnn-_…" he moaned, but too late. The sand jumped up to meet his face, and everything went out.


	28. Chapter 27

**Warped - Chapter Twenty Seven**

**Disclaimer:** As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** Bah, sorry this one's taking so long. -_- I am admittedly nearly finished, just having "motivation issues" and writer's block (and distractionssss). Bah.

"Future Tense" (the third instalment) is kind of on hold, for now, as I'm planning my NaNoWriMo for this year; "Adverse Camber". It _is _going to involve a couple of my OCs (Celerity, Slipstream and Firewire) but I won't be uploading it here as I'm making it part of my own standalone series. A couple of canons get cameo roles, but they're not actively named, as such. If anyone's interested (ha), I'll be uploading it to my LJ (see my profile for links, if you're interested – "Aude Sapere #3")

* * *

…Primus, it was dark in here. Dark, and close. That suffocating, overheated sort of dark that seemed to weigh down like something physical, a heavy smothering blanket of it that left an individual unable to tell if he hadn't just gone _blind_. Where _was _he anyway? Skywarp stared out into the darkness, struggling to pick anything out, but all he could tell was that he felt ill, unstable, swallowed up in this cloying tar, and… Primus. _Primus._ He was _underground_. They were rocks, weren't they, picked out in the dim crimson of his optics? He shrank down, involuntarily, trying in vain to work out just how far above him the ceiling was. How _stable_ it was. How likely to all fall down on his he-… _stop that_.

Worse than that, he couldn't… couldn't seem to move anything from the neck down. At least, not well. Not much more than a languorous _squirm_. Although still partially sedated, he wasn't so depleted he was bordering on locking up, and his systems didn't report any overt instabilities – just a little elevated pressure in his coolant lines, gyroscopes just wonky enough to make him feel groggy and off-balance – so it was obviously something external. Maybe it was to do with whatever filth that stupid pipeline had squirted down his intakes. Yuck. He pulled a face at the memory, involuntarily, and winced at recognising that his analytical plating was still completely offline.

His spark felt heavy in his chassis – hot and stressed and constricted by its own magnetic bottle. Must be all that weight of rock, all around him – pressing down, tightening the air. He struggled to draw cool air across his overheating relays, but his vents felt stuffy. Congested. Like there was something preventing them functioning properly. The only air he could draw in was through his primary intake, and his scorching insides ended up heating it before he could get it to anywhere he wanted it anyway.

A light flickered on in a corridor, somewhere – dim, sullen white light, but it was enough to outline the narrow maw of the doorway, and the rough floor outside. And the ceiling, rough-hewed and covered in cracks-… no, not going to look at that. If he looked long enough, he'd convince himself it was all about to fall down on his head and bury him forever.

The soft tread of light footsteps on sand attracted his attention; a shadow stretched its way up the rough floor, advancing on his position, and finally halted in the doorway. The silhouette framed between the rocky walls was fairly short, spindly-looking… and entirely recognisable.

…Skywarp immediately wished he could just sit and look at the rocks again. Being underground was – bizarrely – more appealing than the idea of enduring the tanker's company.

"Ah, you're awake at last," the little mech crooned, sweetly, slinking in through the doorway. "That's good. I was getting tired of waiting."

Skywarp glared exhaustedly at him, struggling to think up an appropriate retort, but all that his vocaliser could manage to produce was a dry _hiss_ of distortions.

"Still not feeling so good? Aww," Siphon cooed, settling into the sand nearby. "Never mind. You'll soon forget about that. You see, I'd like to introduce you…" His voice dropped an octave or so into a purr, almost seductive in timbre, as he leaned up veeery close to his captive's face, "to a new friend."

Skywarp turned his gaze away, silently, feigning disinterest.

"I was worried I'd have to use it all on that dithering lump of worthless blue tin you were all so terribly _worried_ about," the tanker went on, falsely concerned, coming close enough to press their cheeks together, and chuckling at the repulsed shudder that ran all the way up his captive's back and made his wings rattle against the wall. "But all _he_ needed was a few gentle prods in the right direction and he self-destructed quite contentedly all by himself. Amazing what a good look at his inner demon could do to him. I don't think the poor mech realised quite how _foul_ and _ugly_ he really was, under that veneer of nobility."

"Whh-… whaa'y want?" Skywarp finally managed to bully a few painful, staticky words out of his vocaliser.

"I _told_ you what I want," the tanker reminded, softly. "I want you punished, for every last insult you dealt out to me. I want to see you _debased_, and I want to see you _broken_. I want you _pleading_ with me for clemency. Most of all, I want to see you _crawling_ at my feet, begging for my forgiveness."

Muted crimson optics met with murky amber; there was a trace – just a trace – of a disparaging sneer in the Seeker's manner. "…fat chhh- chance-… of thhh-… _that_."

"Oh, trust me, dear. I have my ways, and I think you might just be forced to change your mind very, very soon," Siphon purred, fumbling with his subspace and bringing something out. "Because this," he lifted a small cube of strangely-coloured energon, "is Pace. Oh, I know what you're thinking…" He held it dramatically into the shaft of light that struck down from the corridor, and it glowed as though lit from within by a malevolent cobalt. "It's Blue. And in a way, you'd be right. It's… strongly similar. One of the backstreet 'chemists' in Rustig cooked it up in the aftermath of Cali's arrest."

Skywarp stared silently into the cobalt depths, and felt his earlier optimism shrivel – _I'll show that little fragger exactly who he's dealing with_ very quickly turned into _aw, __damn,__ not __that__ smelt-waste again!_

Siphon's lip curled in a smirk, pleased by Skywarp's obvious dismay. "It's like a watered-down over-commercialised version of our beloved Screaming Blue," he went on, softly. "Nowhere near as powerful, or as addictive. A mech can get off this all by themselves, if they've got the patience and the willingness to make the effort. But you know what? I don't think you'll care about that, once you're on it. All you'll care about is _getting it_. And doing whatever it takes to keep your supplies up."

The tanker leaned closer, and added, in a more hushed voice; "I can keep you teetering at the point of complete emotional and physical breakdown with this just as easily as Screaming Blue. Just have to give you enough to keep you functioning. Enough to keep you _hooked_." He ran his fingers tenderly down Skywarp's chest, and added, in a sweet, seductive murmur; "and I can sit back and watch as all your self-control and composure fizzles away down the drains, and you crawl at my feet like a broken-down empty after your next fix."

Skywarp bared his denta, grimly. "…go stick a fork in it," he rasped.

Siphon laughed, softly. "I'm sure I could find _somewhere_ to stick one, if you really wanted me to," he agreed. "But first, I have more important business to attend to. You ruined my life," he crooned, sweetly, "so – Primus willing – I'm going to ruin yours. Now open wide…" He tilted the cube toward his prisoner's paralysed lips. "…And take your medicine like the good little spark you are…"

0o0o0o0o0

Skywarp _did_ cut quite the sorry figure, Megatron mused, from the cell doorway.

The little campaign, as it was, had gone surprisingly well. While he'd had no particular desire to put _himself_ in the line of fire for so little gain, he'd had no problem allowing his underlings to do so, and while his idiots had gone head-on into an engagement in which they were massively outnumbered, he'd claimed a good vantage point from which to observe proceedings.

Thundercracker had very quickly been surrounded and removed "to safety" by a cluster of blue and white groundlings. He wrinkled his nose in a sneer - typical Autobot so-called nobility, desperately hopeful that they could fix all lost causes. (Although after everything he'd been put through, and then the crash, it was frankly a wonder the blue jet was still alive, so maybe he _did_ still have a few things going for him.) The Coneheads had homed in on the sparkling, but managed to lose it quite spectacularly and were reduced to noisy posturing, and _no-one_ was bothering to try and wrest the analyst from the clutches of the giant that was guarding her.

The little tanker, however, had rather passed under everyone's radar, and with a little bit of (apparently well-practised) sneakery managed to snag the sparkling, and by extension her troublemaking parent. The little braggart had actually done fairly well, providing exactly what he'd promised – a plastic-wrapped mostly-Skywarp-shaped bundle of parts, propped against the wall. Humiliated maroon optics stared mostly in his direction and tried to keep up the aura of _I'm-a-fierce-and-noble-fighter-cross-me-at-your-own-peril_, but the fallen Seeker was sufficiently sedated that all he managed to do was look like he was having issues with sitting up straight, particularly with his hands restricted. Murderous hatred boiled off him in impotent waves so thick you could almost _see_ it crackling in the air between them – or was that just _fear_, so scared of the confined dark that he'd made himself overheat? The heat blasting off him had already melted holes in the tough plastic Siphon had used to keep him under control, and was pouring noisily out of over-taxed vents.

"It would be a terrible shame," the warlord mused, at last, and actually sounded _somewhat _genuinely sorrowful, "if _this_ is how it is all to end for you and your brothers."

"They're _not_ my _brothers_," Skywarp corrected, sullenly, but the assertion was without its usual heat. He knew Thundercracker had taken a small measure of comfort in the whole 'siblings' idea. "…stupid pair of fraggers," he added, darkly, to save a modicum of face.

"Regardless. I accept that you may not believeme, but I always valued your loyalty, Skywarp, and it would be a terrible shame if _this_," Megatron gestured a hand at him, melodramatically, "was how you were to end your days. A valueless, drug-addled Empty with no use to anyone, held prisoner just to keep him from joining the enemy ranks."

Skywarp muttered sourly and dropped his gaze away.

"You were the only of your trine that I could rely on absolutely," Megatron went on, generously. "What with your wingmates either suffering delusions of grandeur, or else misplaced anxieties. And your… _handicap_, shall we say…?" _Your sheer, utter brainlessness_. "…was never a hindrance to your efficiency."

Skywarp studied his feet, unwilling to meet the tired stare. _All this is your fault, Skywarp_, he reminded himself. _Even right back at the start. So what if it was Screamer squabbled with Megs and ran off, if you'd not got spooked over fragging __nothing__, you wouldn't have ended up on Cybertron in the first place and got tangled up with those stupid Policedorks. Wouldn't have crossed that stupid _pipeline_, either. No sparklings to prey on your conscience. It'd just be the same old same old, do as Megs tells you, get your aft kicked by the Autobots every now and then, slack off with TC and laugh when Screamer blows himself up again. _

"Consider it," the warlord offered, in the silence, inclining his head. "Thundercracker was on the point of coming back to us-"

"After you beat the ever-loving slag out of him-!" Skywarp flared up.

"-and you may rest assured that this latest… _hiccup_… won't have a major impact on the faction hierarchy," Megatron went on, as if the smaller mech hadn't spoken. "I'm willing to treat this as just a… a misplaced, emotionally driven outburst. You were placed in a confusing, unfamiliar situation, and behaved accordingly."

Although his features contorted into an angry pout in effort, Skywarp managed to keep a rein on his vocaliser; the temptation was rising to blurt out all the accusation and obscenity he could think of, to show what he thought of his former leader's 'generosity'. "Don't kid yourself that you know _anything_ about my _situation_," he chewed out. "Maybe I've actually been taking stock of my options, cuz I'm tired of _stagnating_, here_. _Maybe I want to make something of myself, for a change."

Megatron's lip twitched, but he didn't rise to the bait. "Long words and big ideals were never your forte, Skywarp," he observed, dryly, "so you'll forgive me, I hope, if I take that statement with a fairly liberal helping of salt."

"Take it however you fragging well want to," Skywarp muttered, slumping back down. "After all this, you don't think we're going to _willingly _walk back, do you?" he challenged, daringly, at the broad silver back, as Megatron turned to leave. "This is the only way you're gonna get me to sit still enough to talk to me in the first place, bundled up like a fragging… _factory-second_ on the floor of a prison cell. I'm sure as fraggery not gonna just _hand everything over _to you."

Megatron hesitated in the doorway, and looked back at him. "If that's how it has to be, then that's how it has to be," he accepted, grimly, inclining his head. "Don't think I won't find a safer place to put your spark chamber if I have any doubts over your ability to know your place. When you start to behave? Then I'll reconsider the options I allow you."

Skywarp's optics flashed, angrily, and he hunched his shoulders. Having one's spark chamber removed and placed into specialised storage was the simplest and most secure way of confining a machine – the spark was remarkably stable so long as the magnetic bottle was patent – but it was also the most _unpleasant_ way, particularly to a flier as claustrophobic as Skywarp. The teleport got the distinct impression that was the sole reason Megatron had left the threat hanging over him – and that the warlord also had no particular plans to actually carry said threat out, but had no problems with using it to bully him back into toeing the faction line.

"If not for yourself, and for all the vorns you've served the regime so loyally, at least consider it for the sake of your sparkling," Megatron elaborated, grimly. "She won't be _harmed_, but the, ah, 'ethics' we instil… will mostly be down to how _you_ choose to behave – or not."

"_You leave her out of this, you half-smelted blob of purge_!!" The words that shrieked after the departing warlord would have done Starscream proud in their discordant volume, but didn't get him to turn back.

Time dragged past with the same interminable slowness as the average speciall-extended-monitoring-shift-as-punishment-for-repainting-Meagtron's-quarters. Worse than that, actually, because for that, the punishment had already been enacted, whereas here, he was still all stuffed up with _worry_, and telling himself it had all been worth it and Screamer would fix it wasn't quite such a comfort as it usually was. The only way this'd be worth it would be once he'd snagged Footloose and they'd made a successful run for it.

Although a distant white light cast a tiny glow into the corridor, it had returned mostly to dark, again – the main light in the corridor had been turned out long ago, leaving him with nothing but a forest of shadows, lit by the dim crimson glow of his optics, and his own bleak thoughts for company.

Not looking at it and convincing himself it could just be a really cloudy night sky above his head (not tonnes and tonnes oh Primus of rock) was helping to stave off the worst of the panic attack. His vents were still pumping out enough scorching exhaust to make the air shimmer, but he had retained _just_ enough mental ability to be able to make something like an attempt to think his way out of here.

First thing, get out of this mess of plasticky film Siphon had wrapped him in. Couldn't exactly do much to help himself while he still couldn't _move._ Frag it. The little slagger had done it on purpose, he _knew_ he was the most claustrophobic of the thr-… No, he wasn't going to think about it. If he _thought_ about how tightly constricted he was, how hot and cramped and airless it was in here, how his vents were straining for cold but the walls were all closing in and-… no. No, stop that, you moron. Stop _thinking_ about it!

He took a moment to rally his thoughts. _Please, _please_, just ignore the phobias for a breem or two?_ Because this was _important_. Important-er than getting out to take _personal _vengeance on the under-clocked bunch of tubes, certainly. If nothing else, payback on Thundercracker's behalf was more important than his own stupid need to kick some (admittedly thoroughly-deserving) aft.

Most importantly of all, he had to get out of here to rescue that brainless little sparkling that had worked her way inexorably under his plating. _My__ little girl, and by Primus I'm gonna make that stupid green blot of slag rue the day he laid a finger on her. Even if I have to abandon her to Ama's care, 'cause I'm hardly ideal parental material, that stupid bunch of pipes is gonna learn once and for all that he doesn't mess with our business and _certainly_ doesn't poke his tubes into _our_ territory…_

And by Primus he'd show that little slagger he wasn't _yet _some drug-addled idiot who'd ask 'how high' when told to jump. They were so happily (and stupidly) convinced of his supposed lack of ambition and the idea that he'd just roll over and accept his fate (pah! Working with Screamer so long had left him increasingly stubborn) that they'd not bothered with any complex restraints. And they had the gall to call _him _the idiot! Skywarp craned his neck to examine the stretchy film that held him prisoner; there was far too much of it for him to simply _snap_ it, and trying to rub it off would take far too long, Siphon would be back with the next dose by then… But maybe… although the glow from his optics was hardly ideal to see by, from what he could tell, the stuff looked almost… waxy.

Waxy. Wax. Heat. Flammable! Yes! If there was one thing he was good at, especially in this stressed-out frame of mind, it was getting things _hot_. He gunned his thrusters, very briefly, produced a very low-level spurt of flame, and watched what happened.

…Nothing. The film was too far away to spontaneously ignite, and running his engines for much longer to heat the exterior casings was probably tempting fate – jet engines weren't exactly the _quietest_ of propulsion, and someone would soon come looking to see what the noise was about. He wrinkled his lip, unimpressed. Okay, let's try something else…

Five minutes work rubbed just enough of the film off his legs and just into range of his thrusters. _Please work, please work_. He managed to cross his fingers, and gave his engines another brief little grumble. Blue flame lit the walls with a faint, chilly gleam… and the film at his heels lit with a surly, smoky little orange flame. _Yes_, it was working! Ha. Okay, admittedly not working very _well_, the wax was mostly melting rather than burning… but it was softening and slackening and with a little bit of effort he might just be able to wriggle-

_Slag_, Skywarp realised, watching as the sullen flames licked up over his chassis. …_I'm on fire._

_Primus, one of these days you'll actually think these things right the way through to the end before you go ahead and do it_, he scolded himself, his movement taking on a slightly more urgent nature. Okay, fair enough, so the ignition point of his own components was considerably higher than this, but frag, he wasn't in the best nick and what if there was any energon close enough to the surface to go off?

A few moments of energetic struggle had thrashed him enough slack to fling himself out and away from the foul residue, leaving trails of smoking wax in his wake and trying to pat out the last few flickering orange flames. As if just to complete the cycle of bad luck he was having, the alarm cut in the instant he crossed the threshold into the corridor – an urgent, wailing alert that pounded against his audios and seemed to be shrilling accusation at him, just in case there were any doubt at what had caused it to go off. He could already hear concerned yells from further down the corridor. _Aw, fraggit. Just advertise your attempt at escaping to _everyone_, why don't you, you prize-winning idiot?_

There had to be a way out. He managed a step or two down the corridor before revising his opinion – he'd be overwhelmed and locked straight back up, if he tried to fight his way out. So he had to _sneak_ out. But sneak _where_? This horrible close-walled little warren could have _any_ number of blind-ends to trap himself in, places to jam his wings across…

_Come on, Skywarp, think like Screamer, for a second. Logic, logic._ His brow furrowed in concentration. _Have to get out. Can't sneak past. Have to teleport, but I don't know where I am in relation to everything else. I don't have a positioning fix, and it'll take too long to find one even if I can find a computer- _

_No, no no no, stop. _Logic_. No earth building is two miles tall! And the little fragger couldn't have dug his base two miles beneath the surface in the time he's had between crawling out of the rift and coming here… So just go straight up, to the very limit of your teleport. _

_But… Lucy._ Skywarp managed another step before going back to dithering, by the doorway that led into one of the wider corridors; he could hear Thrust's irritated voice coming closer. _Can't abandon her to Megatron. If you leave now? You might never get her back. They might steal her away to _Nemesis,_ and good luck getting on _there _on your own…! _Beat._ But if you _don't _leave now, you'll never get the _chance to_ come back. They'll catch you and dismantle you and leave you in a little box somewhere, a disembodied spark going crazy as the walls close in._

"I'll come back and get you," he promised, feebly, already triangulating his way out. "I swear. If it's the last thing I do, I'll come rescue you…"

Thrust skidded around the corner and gave an angry yell at seeing him on the loose, but before the Conehead could gather himself into a good enough lunge to grab the teleport, Skywarp engaged his gate and was gone.

…it was only when the world successfully reappeared almost two miles beneath his thrusters that he realised the jump would use up the meagre remainder of his fuel.

"Aw, slag it," he creaked, matter-of-factly, and felt gravity reclaim him.

0o0o0o0o0

When all things were later considered, Calibrator had not only had a _very_ lucky escape, she also saved Skywarp's life (in a roundabout sort of way). She'd been indulging in a careful and enthusiastic program of needling at Starscream's temper, trying to goad him into a tantrum and dump him into trouble with the Autobots, and he was _just_ on the point of punching her into the middle of the next Vorn… when Forceps intercepted him and spoiled the plan. The surgeon had fairly bluntly "suggested" he might "like" to go and work off his frustrations in some way that _didn't_ include mangling the analyst – no matter how much better it might make _him_ feel, mauling her probably wasn't the best of options, especially as they may yet still have a use for her. The red Seeker had matched glares, for a moment or two, then _flounced_ dramatically and took huffily to the air.

…Which turned out to be most fortuitous, when Skywarp unexpectedly appeared a few hundred yards to the east of his position, with all the aerial capacity of a lump of lead. Cali was promptly forgotten in favour of a frantic dash to rescue his stricken wingmate. He fell like a stone alongside him, arms outstretched. "Come on, Warp, work with me here!" he insisted, urgently, beckoning. "We've got a few dozen astro-seconds to pull you out of this, engage your turbines!"

"No fuel," the teleport explained, in a distracted murmur, almost as if in a dream. "Can't-… can't get 'em… to turn over."

"You just need to give them a few astro-seconds," Starscream insisted, only too aware how quickly the ground was rushing upon them. "You have to have a few dregs left in there. Vapours, even! Just enough to land without spreading yourself halfway across the desert."

"Used all up," Skywarp disagreed, with a strained, hopeless grin. "Used it to 'port out."

"All right," Starscream despaired. "I'll try pull you out of this myself. Arms up!" Like some sort of morbid embrace, the red Seeker managed to lock his arms around his wingmate, and felt his engines take up the strain. "Oww. Dammit, Warp, you could _try_ and help me, here! You're _heavy_!"

Skywarp made a valiant effort at re-orienting himself in a more flight-friendly way, but his head still sagged and he couldn't even get his turbines to cycle. "Jus'… lemme splat. Put back together after."

"Ohh no you don't. I need your help sorting this whole mess out, I'm not letting you wriggle your way out of having to be useful by smashing into pieces, you stupid lump."

The scold was clearly intended to needle a little spirit back into him, but Skywarp only managed a half-hearted sneer. "…nice try… sorry."

The sand loomed ever closer; a smooth blanket of gold that'd be every bit as unyielding as a slab of concrete, especially after hitting it from this height… Starscream had to restrain an anticipatory flinch. _Primus. This is going to HURT._ His engines were screaming, pushed beyond their normal limits, already painfully overheating, and he knew that he was going to have to make an agonising decision in the next few seconds – save himself, because he wasn't sure how far he trusted these Autobot idiots to resolve the situation on their own – but that'd mean letting Warp alone smash himself to pieces across the desert… or keep on fruitlessly trying until they _both_ ended up in a tangle of twisted wreckage in this Primus-forsaken Pit-

A large shadow blotted out the sun. Starscream barely had time to position himself between their new 'assailant' and the helpless Skywarp and prepare himself for a barrage of laser fire to complete the act of knocking them out of the sky… before a pair of powerful and familiar white arms took hold and a second engine finally began to pull them from their joint nosedive.

They'd got too close to the ground to pull right out of their fall, even with Skyfire's massive engines helping out. The big shuttle throttled back until he was at the point of stalling, and carefully let them go with a few feet to spare, to avoid coming down on top of them and crushing them. The two Seekers 'landed' together with a muted creak in the sand, skidding across the dunes in a whirling cloud of dust; Skyfire managed another few dozen yards before coming down with an _oomph!_ himself.

Starscream wound up at the bottom of his and Skywarp's little heap, half buried in a dune. He came up 'coughing' sand from all his vents, struggling to get out from underneath the teleport. "…Primus alive, Warp, how is it you manage to be so _heavy_ when your tanks are _empty_…?!"

Skywarp grunted quietly, and tried to prop himself on an arm so his wingmate could get up, but rapidly subsided back to the ground.

In comparison, Skyfire hadn't taken long to get back on his feet; he approached and offered a hand, which just made the red Seeker angrier.

"I don't need your help. You stay away! I never _asked_ for your help in the first place!" Starscream snapped, stabbing one finger in a threatening point and promptly losing his balance, going flat on his face and getting his intakes full of sand.

"I know," Skyfire confirmed, with a polite little inclination of his head, keeping his hand outstretched. "That's why I didn't _offer_ it. You'd rather go digging up the desert with your wingmate."

"Don't you take that tone with me!" Starscream spluttered.

Skyfire met the hostile crimson glare with as much calm as he could muster. "…you're welcome."

Starscream made irritable noises and struggled his way out from underneath his wingmate, still ignoring the hand; Skyfire finally gave up, venting hot air in a very long-suffering sigh, and stepped back out of his way.

Skywarp looked like he was at the point of going right into stasis – his optics were dim and he could barely move, but in spite of that he was managing to mumble, feeble little words that were mostly static.

"What's that, Warp?" Starscream leaned down closer, trying to catch the words.

Skywarp flickered his optics just the once, before letting them go dim, exhausted. "Jus' shu'up an gemme someth'na drink."

0o0o0o0o0

Deep below the golden stone cliffs, Footloose sat on the flat grey top of a computer terminal in the small control room, and tried to be brave for Day. She knew he was here, because she'd seen two of the pointy-headed ones carrying him, all hurt and silent with his feet dragging and his head lolling back, and it made her scared that maybe he was broken… but she reassured herself with the idea that Day could do anything. Even when he went to the Autobots, and Aunnie Ausep had to fix him, he'd still got better enough to go find her on his own, hadn't he? Escaped their jail, and found her, even though he was hurt! So she'd be good, too, and wait for him to come and find her again.

At least the Decepticons here weren't being too openly threatening, and she could just sit quietly and not feel compelled to _run_. They were scary, and kept on… _looking_ at her, in a sort of unfriendly, resentful way, but kept their distance otherwise. The scaredy looking little blue truck – she wasn't sure if he was a Decepticon because he didn't have the angry purple face – had given her a little cup of energon to rectify her deficit. She sat clutching it tightly in both hands, to keep both body parts from getting shaky and misbehaving, watching Megatron carefully from over its rim.

He-… didn't seem as bad as Day had said. He was scary, sure, but maybe it was just because he was so big? He was bigger than Day, certainly, maybe even bigger than Hack! And when Hack was grouchy – not often, admittedly, although she and Seem had succeeded at making him furious once or twice – _he _was scary, and _he_ was a nice policemech. So how much scarier would this big Decepticon be when _he_ got mad? She resolved to be good until Day came and rescued her, so not to have to find out. Aside from that, though… he was stern and serious but not really _frightening_, as such.

The hoomings were a different matter! Siphing had been talking to them, and they had fairly free reign of the little headquarters, so maybe they were working with him, like Spike and Carly did with the Autobots? They could be _pets_, she accepted, but they didn't really _look _like them. Two of them were quarrelling; she wasn't sure what about, and didn't understand their accents very well, but the darker coloured one looked angry with the lighter one, and they kept on pointing at her. She hoped that didn't mean bad things.

A shadow dropped across her; she didn't have to look up to know it belonged to Megatron. "What are you watching?" he wondered, gruffly.

She tucked her knees closer. "Suishies," she replied, softly, still watching them. "They arguing."

"Squishies, indeed," he agreed, resting his elbows on the computer so he was bending down closer to her level. "Annoying little bugs, aren't they? Always getting in the way and spoiling things. Makes you want to just-…" He held up one hand, and made a pinching motion between thumb and forefinger. "Silence them forever."

She watched his hand, and echoed the gesture. _Squish like bug_. But it made her uncomfortable, so she let her hand drop back into her lap. "What they angry about?"

He smiled, cynically. "The same thing all humans quarrel over. Money, and who deserves more of it. But they're really not worth being scared over," he counselled. "They're small, squashy, unarmed and weak… They can't harm you on their own, and we don't plan on helping them."

"Am little," she argued, faintly. "Can be made broken easy. Ausep say so."

"That's not a problem. I can teach you to be strong enough to look after yourself. Strong enough that those silly squishy humans can't hurt you. Strong enough to look after your family, too, if you want, even if they don't deserve it," he explained. "Unlike your creators. It's so typical of those Autobots. They like to keep you little and weak. Easy to control. Now that's not very fair, is it?"

Footloose shook her head, silently, and studied her little feet. _Wasn't_ fair. She wanted to be big, but Ama and Ausep always said 'no, later. Not old enough. Not got enough of speriences.'

"_I_ can make you bigger," he added, in the silence, and watched as she finally lifted her gaze to meet his. "Stronger. None of that silly, _woolly _sentiment over keeping you little and 'cute'."

She studied her little fingers, then held them up, compared them to his. Hers were small, and weak, with rounded tips and a soft underside for a better grip, each digit driven by a single actuator and a transmission cable at the knuckle. His hands were large, square-tipped, with powerful motors at every single joint. He didn't have _wings_, though, and she needed _them_ if she was going to be like Day.

"Need to learn to make fly," she explained. "Not to be stuck on ground. Day to teach!"

"_I_ can fly," he argued, watching her carefully, "and _I_ don't have wings. It's easy, if you have the right parts."

"How?" Her head perked over to one side, challengingly.

He patted her helm, lightly. "All in good time." Keeping the little troublemaker quietly interested would make her less likely to try and escape, especially if there was the hinted promise of _flying_. "We need to make you bigger, first."

She huffed quietly and folded her arms. "Always say 'when big'. Ausep say, Ama say, not _Megatron_ say. Never now, always later! Not fair!" She pouted, and the huffily-folded arms turned into more of an unhappy, self-comforting hug. "Wait for Day to come get." Her family might be stuffy old meanies who always made her _wait_ for things, but they were still family, and she missed Ama.

"I wouldn't pin your hopes too heavily on that, little one," Megatron demurred. "You might be waiting a very long time for _that_ stupid coward to finally pluck up the courage to dare come here."

"Day not coward!" she protested, nevertheless shrinking down on herself. Megatron had been Day's leader, for a very long time, hadn't he? Maybe he knew him really well, and she was just wrong? She banished the thought. "Day can do _anything_," she insisted, but it felt more like she was trying to convince _herself_, not the warlord.

"He couldn't save Ama, could he?" Megatron went on, smoothly, listening to the complaints from the little female gradually go quiet. "And he hasn't come to save _you_, has he? He's too much of a coward."

"Not coward." She shook her head. "Am hurt. Will prove when comes to rescue!" She held her ankles, and gave him her best bullish expression, even though she still looked trembly and scared. "I stay here for."

He lifted his head, and frowned, just a little. "You're… staying _here_… for Day?"

He sounded surprised. She looked up into his face, and nodded, a tiny bit. "Day hurt by Siphing," she explained, softly. "I stay with 'til made better, then Day to make rescue and both go home."

"Da-… Skywarp isn't here, any more. He ran away and left you here with us," Megatron explained, unusually gently.

She stared up at him, probing his face for any trace that he might not be being truthful. "Making lies," she asserted, bravely. That was what bad people did, wasn't it, made up stories? And Day wouldn't do that. Wouldn't!

"I'm so sorry," he said, gently, ignoring the sparkling's allegation of untruth, and actually sounded genuine. "I wish it didn't have to be me to tell you they don't want you any more."

She slotted her little fingers back into her mouth, anxiously, tucking her feet up. "Not want? Not love any more?"

He shook his head. "They've got Slipstream back, so why do they need _you_, hmm? He's so much better behaved. So much smarter. So much braver. You're just a shrunken-down version of that idiot Seeker who contributed so little to your creation – small, noisy and stupid."

She shrank back on herself. Cali said she was stupid, too. Maybe they were right. Ama was just trying to soothe her rankled feelings.

"You messed up, little one," he went on, softly. "It should have been simple, but you came along when you shouldn't have, you put yourself into the line of danger, and you ended up involving everyone. Why ever would they bother going to _all that effort _coming to find you? You're a little scrap of tin with no special abilities, and you're _bad. _You're just too naughty for them to want any more. You deserve to come here, to stay with all the other bad machines, where we don't mind it if you cause trouble."

She hugged her knees and tried to deny his words. Wasn't a bad femme, she just made a little mistake because Cali made her scared.

The warlord picked her up, carefully; she fitted neatly in the palm of his hand. "I can make you so much more than you are, little one," he promised, quietly. "So you can prove to them that they shouldn't have just thrown you away. If you let me teach you, I can make you powerful – so powerful, no-one will ever be able to hurt you again."

She looked up, at last… and nodded.


	29. Chapter 28

**Warped - Chapter Twenty Eight**

**Disclaimer:** As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** Lordy, I never thought I'd "celebrate" (:cough:) the first birthday of this thing. Ehhe. :shifty eyes:

Sorry this is taking soooo loooong, but I'm NEARLY done.

* * *

Getting a little bit of fuel back inside him didn't improve Skywarp's mood very much. Falling out of the sky had been bad enough, but now he'd run out of Pace and could feel himself withdrawing, too, and knew Screamer'd ground him, if he found out.

Slipstream had left Thundercracker in Forceps' safe hands, and gone to talk to Day. "Day Skawar need to make bath," he observed, quietly, poking a little blue finger at the greyed wax remaining in little lumps and clots on Skywarp's plating.

"Yeah, soon as this dust-bowl freezes over," the teleport agreed, cynically, huddled up and sipping reluctantly on the canister of energon Forceps had waved under his nose. He was hiding his shakes quite well, but sensed that both Screamer _and _Sepp knew there was a problem. They'd not called him out on it in front of the guys yet, thankfully, but… it was only a matter of time before he had to face the music. For now, they seemed pretty content to let him just sit and pretend to be shaken after his near-death experience.

Slipstream wormed his way up into Skywarp's arms, and hummed to him; a long, comforting purring noise. "Where Lucy, Day?"

Skywarp rested his chin very briefly against the top of the little one's helm. "I still need to get her, Spark," he explained, softly. "I wasn't…" _Strong enough._ "…able to find her."

Slipstream made a little disappointed noise. "Is with Megatron?" he wondered, softly.

Skywarp remained quiet.

"Is okay." Slipstream bumped heads. "Took me and Dack long time to make a scape, too, needed help."

_What chance do _I_ stand, then? _Skywarp wondered, tiredly. _Are we going to have to go for a full-frontal assault, or something? __Who knows__ how deep that stupid pipeline has dug his wormhole…_ "We'll get her out, right, Squirt? Then we can all go home."

Slipstream nodded, and hummed. "Day can do anything."

_If only_, Skywarp considered, cynically, but remained silent.

Calibrator surveyed the little scene and smirked, wrinkling her nose at Starscream. "Good going, there, oh_ gracious leader_," she sniped. "You rescue the two you came here to get, and oh! Conveniently lose the _other_ one." She gave an offhand, melodramatic gesture, and her thin lips curled in a cold smile. "I'm sure you could think of some _other _way of proving your virility to Megatron, if you're so determined to make a good impression, rather than contrive a situation where you just _have_ to make yourself into some kind of aberrant hero."

Starscream gave her a sharp prod with a null-ray. "If you value being awake and alert," he said, coolly, "then perhaps you'll invest in a better filter for your vocaliser."

Calibrator smirked, satisfied at getting a reaction, but obediently quietened down.

Longbeam – never one to refrain from speaking her mind – was also watching him, with a hostile look that she wasn't even attempting to cover up.

Starscream matched glares with her, hiking his wings. "And what's _your_ problem, Lanky?" he snapped.

The femme lifted her chin and stared him down. "I'm just waiting for you to say it serves the little brat right and she deserves to be left behind."

There was a collective noise of insult from the rest of the crowd – even Vector made a little noise of dismay, and hastily put herself into Starscream's way before he could take his annoyance out on her partner, scolding her wordlessly as she did so.

"I didn't say that was what _I_ thought," the bike defended herself, sourly, leaning around the bigger femme. "I was just paraphrasing, to get it out of the way, because I bet _you _can't wait to say it."

"Get out of the way, Vector," the red Seeker hissed, already charging his weapons and trying to sidestep around her. "I don't care how much you like her, I'm going to null-ray _this_ little brat, clean into the middle of next week!"

Vector set her jaw and spread her arms. "You'd shoot someone for espousing an opinion?"

"I'd shoot them for flat-out _insulting me_, yes-"

"Why are you all so outraged? It makes sense," Calibrator jumped in, sweetly, taking advantage of the discord. "Disobedient little wretch needs teaching a lesson, wouldn't you say? If not for her coming when she shouldn't have, all three– all _four _of you could have gone home _long_ ago."

"If not for _you_ instilling unhealthy ideas into that impressionable, stupid little head, she wouldn't have felt the need to come along in the first place." Starscream swung about, Longbeam forgotten, and took a single step forwards. The analyst stumbled backwards a step, bumping against her warder; Hardline had already set a hand on her shoulder, just heavily enough to make the point that he wasn't going to let her get hurt, but equally wasn't going to let her bolt. "She was quite happy to stay behind and look after Ama before _you_ got involved," the red Seeker went on, through a clenched jaw.

Calibrator forced a smile. "It's hardly my fault if she believes the word of a _stranger _more than the word of her _family_. Maybe she recognised that you're all either too _stupid _or _callous_ for her to trust-"

Starscream backhanded her just hard enough across the face to leave a blue smear all the way from cheek to cheek; she coughed up a startled burst of static, and her knees gave way, landing her on her aft.

"Be. Quiet," he grated, dropping his tones to a gravelly snarl. "One more peep, and you head home _offline _and _in pieces_."

Wisely, Calibrator finally backed down, simmering quietly with hurt static, keeping her gaze down at the sand. The flurry of dismayed glances everyone else were shooting at him were pretty irksome; wasn't as if she hadn't _deserved_ it. Starscream swallowed his rage, annoyedly. There were better times for it, he had to admit, and that simpering lug Skyfire could probably be counted on to wind him into a raging little ball of temper soon enough once this… this _smeltery_… was all resolved.

He glanced down, and met Skywarp's gaze; his wingmate gave him a _look_. Not an angry look – a kind of lost, _you wouldn't __really__, would you?_ sort of look.

Starscream visibly gritted his denta and glared; his crimson optics almost blazed hotly enough to melt holes in thin sheet metal. Bad enough to be called out, but by his own trine-mate, in front of so many Autobots? Guh. Raging ball of temper was sounding better and better. "No-one is getting left behind," he grated out, fully aware of just _how _many pairs of optics were upon him. "If I have to do a swap to get her back – and I'm not above using you, _dear _Cali, in lots and lots of tiny pieces – I will."

0o0o0o0o0

It was so good to be out of that robotic rat-run at last, Vallory considered, making his way around the cliffs towards the little villages around Amarna. When it was just Mitchell and his stupid plans, it had been workable and _almost_ acceptable, but getting involved with Decepticons was a whole new can of worms that he'd been wanting (very, very much) not to open. Now the can was open, well, he wasn't going to hang around longer than needed. As Mitchell had _far _better things to be doing, he'd took his chance and slipped away. Not like Mitch cared he was gone, his former co-conspirator had made it very clear that he thought he was a dithery, introspective, overemotional waste of flesh, and Val could take his money and shove it where the sun didn't shine, for all he cared-

The small pebbles that scattered down the cliff and bounced off his head and shoulders gave Vallory _just_ enough warning to jump out of the way of the small landslide before it buried him. The pebbles and sand were joined in short order by a large, navy-blue, badly-co-ordinated robot, who ended up on his aft, half-buried in the detritus he'd brought down with him.

…_Well isn't _this_ just a fantastic development_, Vallory wondered. _Out of the frying pan, and square into the damn fire. _

For several long heartbeats, he and the crazy truck-robot just stared each other down, neither moving, neither speaking – and the machine looked considerably more alarmed than the human, his optics rounding out to vivid green discs in his face.

"What do _you_ want, Decepticon?" Vallory demanded, at last, finally recovering his voice and managing – with effort – not to shake. "I don't owe you nothing, you're not getting me to go back in there!"

"What do _I_ want, what do _you_ want, fleshling, are you following me cuz _I'm_ not going back there, and _you_ can't make me!" The words came out in a mostly-incoherent rush. Sand cascaded in a gingery cloud as Deuce attempted to flail up out of his heap. "I'll squish you before I let you call them to come and get me and make me go back, I've had enough of being the punching bag!"

Vallory blinked, slowly, a little startled by the outburst. "…I don't want to take you back," he explained slowly. "In fact? I'd be quite happy to never see you ever again. What are _you_ chasing _me_ for?"

"I'm not-… not chasing you." A few seconds of silent concentration and Deuce managed to untangle his limbs, and extricate himself from the sand. "I'm just going in as straight a line as I can, away from Siphon and away from Megatron and away from you squishy humans," he explained, pointing, boosting himself back to his feet. "Autobots are hiding over there, right? So that's where I'm going."

Vallory gave him a probing look, watching the dark back moving away. "You're gonna go fling yourself on Autobot mercy?" he challenged, trying not to sound _too_ incredulous. "And hope they _don't_ shoot you, or what…? You got a white flag squirreled away in there, somewhere?"

The truck hesitated, turned to look back at the human. "A white-… what? Why would they shoot me?"

"I don't know – because you're a Decepticon?"

"But I'm not." Deuce disagreed. "I'm just-…" He cast another anxious glance at the top of the cliff, checking he'd not been followed, then shuffled his feet. "I'm just scared," he admitted, hollowly. "Scared, and I want out before it kills me."

Well, Vallory reasoned, he'd never noticed that angry purple insignia on the little truck, and even the bashed up flier they'd nabbed ages ago had worn them, pretty visibly. Maybe that meant he was unaffiliated, or something. "Why _now_?" Vallory prodded. "Why wait until you've pretty much _hung yourself _on your actions before leaving?"

"There's enough of 'em about now that they won't be so likely to notice me sneak off," Deuce explained, setting off across the sand once more. "That… that stupid _Siphon_, he's got _new_ friends, now. Doesn't want _me_ any more." Was that a trace of _resentment_, in the nervous voice? Or just _hurt _at being dragged along until the was in it up to his neckplates, then cast aside when something better came along? "Not like he cares I'm gone, or anything. I was just useful to keep around to do all the nasty stuff no-one else wanted to do, and now all his prisoners are gone, what's the point keeping me around?" He rubbed his arms, defensively, and laughed, a nervous little twitter of fracturing glass. "Ah-heh, besides, I've been off my meds for an orn or two, and it seemed like a good idea." The words mumbled back over his shoulder, barely intelligible.

_If only I had the same excuse_, Vallory considered, sourly. _It wasn't me, it was my antipsychotics._

"So what are _you _doing, human?" Deuce queried, suspiciously, arms still folded in a self-defensive hug around his chassis, glancing down as the man trotted to catch up. "Keeping watch on me, now I purged all my secrets at you? Just in case I let something else slip that you can pass on to your boss?"

"If I'm honest?" Vallory forced a tired smile, falling alongside and trudging along in the shade cast by the blue giant. "I'm actually doing much the same as you, robot. I've worked with Mitchell, and I've helped out with his bullshit, and y'know, it's been making me uncomfortable, what we've been doing. I've took all I can, and decided I want out." He looked up and met the green gaze. "Figure it's safer to be arrested by the Autobots than killed by that blue jet's buddies, y'know?"

Deuce gazed down at his feet, optics dim, and nodded. "Yeah. That was my thinking, too."

0o0o0o0o0

"Um… Starscream? Sir?"

Whitesides still had a _jumpiness_ about him, so when Starscream span to face him with a snap of _what?_, irritable at being interrupted, the bike almost leapt out of his plating. "Th-there," he stammered, swallowing his spark back into his chassis, pointing towards the cliffs.

Starscream let his gaze follow in the direction Whitesides' arm was pointing, and arched a brow; his one admission of curiosity. Two figures were approaching – one small, human-sized one, and one taller one, just a little larger than a Seeker. The taller one was cringing back, though, almost as if trying to hide (unsuccessfully) _behind_ the smaller one.

"Well well," Starscream observed, dryly, elevating his voice just enough that he would be heard by the approaching pair. "Just look what crawled out of the woodwork."

A dozen sets of optics finally turned to follow where the red jet was looking-

"_You!_" Skywarp launched into the attack so suddenly, he took everyone by surprise; he _lunged_ at the newcomer, virtually frothing at the mouth in anger.

Vallory fled in alarm, not wanting to be crushed between the two, and Deuce squealed and flinched away an astro-second before the incensed Seeker crashed bodily into him.

"What do you want, you filthy bag of smeltings, huh, come to deliver a _ransom_?" Skywarp's hands scrabbled over the softer cabling in the larger mech's underprotected throat, as if trying to claw an answer out of him. "I swear, I'll pull you to bits myself, with my fragging _denta,_ if you don't start squeaking _right now_! _Where's my little one_?!"

Starscream cast a despairing gaze heavenwards and flicked a hand at Hardline.

The tank smiled, wearily, stepped up and calmly wrestled the howling Skywarp back off his prey, and Deuce promptly crumpled like a wet paper bag. "Arrest me, arrest me," he pleaded, convulsing into a ball, cowering on his knees with his hands over his head. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I didn't mean to get so involved but I couldn't get out and I was scared and he wouldn't let me have any of my medication if I didn't do what he told me and I didn't want to lose my head on a world full of aliens who wouldn't understand I only needed my meds and-"

"Shh," a voice instructed, gently, and the truck's ribbon of words sputtered away to nothing. "Nobody's going to hurt you. So long as you co-operate – and I'm happy that you will, because _you _came to _us_ – you have nothing to fear. All right?"

Deuce glanced up to meet Vector's gentle blue gaze; two sets of hostile crimson optics bore into him, but their owners' weapons were lowered, inactive. He averted his gaze, and nodded.

Slipstream had heard the commotion, and finally succeeded in squeezing past the forest of legs to approach his rescuer. Deuce just watched, unsure what he was up to; the sparkling managed a wavery smile, attempting to be brave, and settled himself down just in front of the shaken delivery truck. "Deuce helped make a scape," he informed Vector, seriously. "To be nice to, please?"

The big femme cupped the little head in one giant blue palm, and stroked his aerials with her thumb, gently. "No worries, Spark. We'll be gentle, all right? You can stay and watch us, if you like."

"I stay," he confirmed, then leaned closer and wondered, hopefully; "Deuce made rescue of Lucy? Is why got out?"

The disappointed, dim green optics told the sparkling all he needed to know, but the truck shook his head, anyway. "I didn't dare," Deuce husked, softly. "If they caught me-…"

Vallory waited patiently to one side, until they'd got Deuce secured – once his wrists were cuffed, the blue mech quietened down, apparently content they weren't going to dismantle him on the spot. He stepped forward and cleared his throat, attracting their attention… and immediately wished he hadn't. It was like being trapped between the headlights of a series of oncoming trucks, and hoping that the drivers managed to brake before he was crushed. He flinched involuntarily as one of the red-eyed jets glared down on him, advancing a step or two before being blocked by one of the blue-eyed ones.

"What do _you_ want, squishy?" the purple Decepticon snapped, leaning around the flier who was blocking him, and trying to punch him out of the way.

"I want to make you a deal," Vallory replied, quietly, trying not to cower back. "Listen, I'll accept it if you guys want to wallop me for what I did. It was stupid, and cruel, but I needed the money, and I didn't figure it'd go so far as it did," he said, quietly, lifting his hands and backing up another few steps when Skywarp advanced, making growling noises with his turbines. "But before you stomp me into a red mush in the sand… listen, I've got information on our 'employer'. The guys who put us up to this. If it'll keep me alive, I'll do you a deal; I give you my information, you don't squish me. Ok?"

Silverbolt nodded and stepped forwards, getting _just_ into Starscream's way, having noticed the irascible Seeker was also bristling, wings quivering. "You have my assurance," he said, giving the former Air Commander a very pointed look and ensuring he had his attention as well as the human's, "that you will have our protection – at least, until we return to the Unites States. After that, it will be Optimus' decision as to how we proceed. Agreed, commander?"

Starscream gave Silverbolt a look that implied a desire to do nasty things to the Aerialbot leader, but nodded. "Very well, _human_," he growled. "We'll protect you – until we find out you're _lying_. If _that_ happens, well, whether you're _protected_ or _squished_ is dependent on who gets to you first."

Vallory met his gaze, and nodded. "Then I've got nothing to worry about, have I?" he agreed, his voice strangling.

"So remind me why we need to pay you any attention _now_," Starscream prompted, pacing impatiently. "And not just find a convenient well to put you down while we finish our business here?"

"My, ah, _former associate_, Mitchell? He's after the little one," Vallory explained, wary of the robot's irritable tones. "Because he can't go back to our, ah, 'employer'… without something to show for all the time he's been dicking about here in Egypt, and the wee one's pretty portable, right? So long as he can persuade it to go with him, and he's sneaky enough that I bet he'll manage it."

Skywarp gave Starscream an alarmed look. -_If he sneaks off with her we'll never find her!_- he reminded, anxiously. -_they'll_ _go beyond the limit of her locator beacon_-

Starscream pinged a shushing noise back at him. "And what makes you think he'll get past the _Mighty_ Megatron?"

"I don't know. I just-… he's got his ways, and he's got some pretty decent tech on his side." _God, Vallory, stop _fidgeting_, already_. "The Boss wants the little one to use for research, right? And the rest of you guys, well, you're invaders, right? _And _you're surplus to requirements, here. He's got a-… a… 'Sun Egg', or something. I dunno if that means anything to you guys." He surveyed the circle of blank faces; _guess not._ "It's some kinda thermonuclear thingie. He's gonna try blow the lot of you up."

There was an uneasy twitter of sound in the background, which Starscream irritably flapped a _quiet down_ hand at. "What makes you think I'm going to believe you?" the scarlet jet wondered, darkly, leaning down closer to Vallory and venting hot air at him, meaningfully. "After everything _else_ you've done to us?"

Vallory wafted a hand in front of his face, clearly not appreciating the fuel-smell. "If you think you can afford not to listen, be my guest," he replied, daringly. "But _I_ sure as heck don't want to get poached when the thing goes off, so if you're gonna find a well for me, make sure it's a few miles away, please?"

"Describe it," Starscream instructed, bluntly.

"…uh?"

"Describe this… device," Starscream repeated, lowering his voice and enunciating more carefully. "Or do you want to admit you're trying to catch us out? You'll save yourself a lot of _pain_ in the long run."

"It's, uh, purple," Vallory hastily explained, awkwardly – he'd only seen the damn thing once or twice. "And… squat. Roundish." He waved a hand near the ground. "Like a flattened ball, I guess."

"A torus?" the red jet challenged.

"A what?"

Starscream visibly cast his gaze towards the sky. "Like a 'doughnut'."

"Um… not sure. I guess, maybe? It had a kind of a lid on it, I didn't get to see under it."

The jet straightened and huffed, disappointedly. "All right, I believe you. For now," he accepted, gruffly. "As for you lot – just _shut _up and _listen _up, for a breem!" he barked, and the twittering voices faded out, all optics returning to him. "Your current priority is to find this… 'device', if it exists. From what the human says, it's such a low-yield weapon it'll probably just melt a little sand, but I don't want to be stood on top of it if it goes off!

"Vector? You're in charge of Deuce," he instructed, and watched as – thankfully – she just nodded. "Everyone else – you too, Lanky – get into pairs." He gestured an arm. "One groundling and one flier, for as many pairs as you can make and so long as you can work out how to quarter the area… no, I don't expect anyone to try and carry the Superintendent."

Hardline chuckled, dryly, and inclined his head.

"You three?" He waved an arm at the bikes, then pointed up into the air. "You're all going that way, and _no arguments_. Your visual acuity will be best served where you can cover plenty of ground." There was a quiet twitter of dismay from the three smallest team-members, but all of them nodded. "I'll be taking Calibrator with me; who knows, maybe we can actually make her _useful_, for once in her life."

The analyst glared, but didn't argue, past the quiet, muttered observation that she was more than the sum of her sensors; she was still smarting from the smack around the face, and apparently not wanting to risk the jet's ire any more.

As ever, Skywarp hadn't been paying the greatest amount of attention, and now also didn't appear to want to help out in the search. Starscream caught his shoulder vent before he could vanish all the way out of reach. "And where do you think _you're_ going?" he challenged.

"I'm going back to Siphon." Skywarp didn't bother even attempting to hide his intentions, trying to peel the blue fingers away from his plating. "I'm gonna sneak in and get Lucy out while everyone's watching your little flock of idiots flitting about, before that stupid fleshbag lures her away."

"You don't even know how to get _in_," Starscream reminded.

"Oh pssh, I can teleport-"

"-without a map?"

"Why are you so fragging determined not to let me go?" Skywarp folded his arms, and affixed the other seeker on a glower.

"Because I don't want you blending yourself with the floor because you can't see where you're going!"

"That's never stopped you letting me jump into the unknown before." Skywarp tried to wriggle his shoulder backwards, out of the restraining blue fingers. "You're always saying it should be _my_ decision."

"Not when _I'm _the one that'll have to dig you out, it's not!" Starscream tightened his grip. "We need to find this-… this _Sun Egg_, whatever it is, before it goes off. I need you _up there_, looking." He pointed skywards with his free hand, and matched glares with the teleport.

"Right, and what if this 'Mitchell' guy has left the device in Siphon's creepy little base? Figuring he'll blow up Megs too, while he's after us? I'm not gonna cross my fingers that they just _happen_ to bring Lucy out before it goes off."

"Warp, he is _hardly_ going to have succeeded in stealing a valuable, high-yield device from us without us noticing," Starscream scolded. "It'll be some pathetic little low-power bit of equipment that we won't even have missed – if it's even of Decepticon origin."

"Right, of course, it's not _your_ little brat down there, is it?" Skywarp flared, and his wingmate actually backed off, startled, releasing his shoulder. "What do _you_ care if she's squished under millions of tonnes of rock?"

"We don't even know that this… this _device… _even _exists_," Starscream hissed, although he seemed more irritable about being startled. "What if it's a ploy from those two?" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the two refugees; Deuce had his gaze down on the sand, but Vallory was openly watching them. "They were both Siphon's loyalists, who's to say it's not all a clever trick to get our eye off the ball so they can come and get Slipstream while we're too dispersed to protect him? Complete their little collection and run off somewhere we're never going to be able to get at to rescue them?"

"Honestly?" Skywarp waved an arm. "Frag it, Screamer, we could spend orns quibbling over the what-ifs, I want to just get in there and get Button _out_. I'm just not gonna sit back and _hope_."

"That's typical of you, isn't it?" Starscream folded his arms and glared. "Don't think, just do – right?"

"Yeah, pretty much, because someone's gotta. You'd just keep on pumping out hot air and blather until the stars burn out, wouldn't you?" Skywarp thumbed his nose. "Anyway, I'm going. Good luck finding the thingy. Park Sepp and Bunches over by TC, if you're that worried, they're both big enough to look after him and Seem until we're done." He gunned his engines and departed in a whirl of ginger sand.

"Sepp and _who_?" Starscream challenged the departing thrusters, once the dust had cleared, then shook his head, and turned away into the search.

0o0o0o0o0

Mitchell stood with his arms folded at the side of the little underground control room, lounging against a computer terminal, and watched his hosts flit about; they'd got kinda agitated lately, and he figured they must have noticed the robots down by the river were up to something. Megatron was making growly suspicious noises in his un-interpretable native language, so the human had no idea what _exactly _was wrong (although he had a few pretty good ideas), but if the way he clobbered the pointy-headed red aeroplane-bot was anything to go by, he wasn't happy.

Well, if it kept 'em busy and distracted, Mitchell didn't really _care_ what was wrong. He had more important things to worry about – 'cause this was going to be his last chance, or he was going to have to write the whole thing off as a failure. He could go plead his case to his boss, he figured, grimly, but then he'd have to hand back what remained of the funds, and he felt he deserved to keep it, after all this dicing with death! He guessed he could make himself disappear before his employers realised he'd took the remaining money and run, but then there wasn't really enough left to make that worth it, either.

That… that _idiot_ Vallory… Mitchell wrinkled his nose, involuntarily. What a moron. The guy had got so stuffed up with misplaced morals that he'd made himself useless. Don't wanna hurt them, boo-hoo-hoo. It was hard to work out if he was getting woolly over how "human" the invaders were, or he was just too scared of retribution to want to work himself in any deeper. OK, so, the latter was understandable, he figured, but the former? Lordy. They're just _machines_. They're _designed_ to interact with real people, _of course_ they're gonna be good mimics; doesn't mean they're _actually _all smushy and emotional inside that metal shell.

Whatever the reason, Vallory had took his share of the money, and jumped ship. Going back to the US, he said; going to enrol on a University course and _make_ something of himself while he still had the chance. Yeah, good luck with that, not like the cops won't instantly jump on you for trafficking illegal weapons, or anything.

At least, Mitchell reassured himself, Vallory had given him a convenient opportunity to cause enough of his own disruption to try and smuggle the little one out. He could play the "sabotage" card – lord above, the traitor has booby trapped the place, must have been working to someone else's agenda all along, wants to kill you all! He'd already spent the last few days seeding the corridors with electrical faults and little hidden explosive gadgets, to keep them busy, and while they were running around trying to sort out "Vallory's" sabotage, he could step in, nab the little one, and be gone! It'd be foolproof.

If he could find his target, of course. This new little one was more openly fearful than their first capture; where the little male had grown bold enough to stare down even the most aggressive giants, this one – he'd got the impression it was female – spent most of her time shrinking back, hiding away. They'd apparently started to consider options around upgrading her a size or two – she'd let them one of them (a big, snobby-looking green and purple one) measure her already, but she'd also looked like she was more terrified into immobility than happy to behave. They seemed to have _downgraded_ her spirit at the same time.

…which put him at an advantage, here. He'd overheard Megatron speaking to her about "Squishies", and she'd not seemed especially leery of discussing them. The little male had been very suspicious of _all_ the humans on Mitchell's team – even the useless Vallory, of whom _no-one _in their right mind should have been frightened, had made the little guy edgy – but the girl watched them with no particular concerns. Her fear of the other robots combined with lack of fear of the humans meant that maybe, just maybe, he could extract her.

Right now, she was out of sight, again. Unless someone was actively hanging onto her, talking to her, she seemed to shrink away and find somewhere just out of sight to hole up – like now. No-one was particularly bothered, because she couldn't find her own way out, especially past all the locks the paranoid little oil-tanker had placed around the joint (which Mitchell _oh so conveniently_ had the codes for), and she seemed less determined to do a runner anyway. She was completely hidden from view, but everyone had a good idea where she might be. He bent down to peer behind the terminal and found the access plate had been removed, leaving a hole just big enough that a small, anxious humanoid could venture inside if they felt sufficiently threatened. Looking a little closer, he noticed the very dim blue-green glow reflecting off the inactive components within.

"Hello there, little one," he greeted, gently, with what he hoped was a friendly smile. "What's got you hiding away in there, hmm?"

Two bright pinpoints of blue-green light turned to stare out of the gloom at him, flickering briefly. "Want Ama," the tremulous little voice said. "Not nice here. Want Ama!"

Ama, Mitchell figured, must be 'Mama' – so she wanted her Mom? The idea of machines even _having _parental units was somewhat boggling, but not something he couldn't work with. Just… treat the little one like you would any other kid, right? "How about I take you to her, hmm?"

"Not here," she disagreed, the little lights dimming down to a muted green. "Still in the merry car. Day said to go home, but…" Her voice went quiet. "Still not made rescue yet."

"Well, that's no problem. I have an aeroplane," Mitchell explained. "I can get you back to America."

The little lights turned back onto him. "To take to Ama? Away from Megatron?"

"Of course." He smiled, genuinely – resolving to take her _somewhere_ in the US, if not _exactly_ to her Mom. "Come on, hon. If we're quiet, we can sneak out while they're busy, and they'll never notice us go."

A little dark hand crept out of the gloom and a small set of fingers closed around his.

"There's a good girl," he soothed, reassuringly, as the little female crawled the rest of the way out of her nook and tucked up close to him. She was tiny, compared to the giants in this place – he'd seen her sit in Megatron's palm with no problems – and even pretty small when compared to Mitchell, the top of her little head came only to the midpoint of his upper arm. "Let's get you out of here, shall we?"

She had her cheek pressed up against his arm; he felt her nod, and smiled privately to himself.

0o0o0o0o0

Somewhere above their heads, Skywarp had landed, and now was hesitating on the clifftop, dithering about how best to get in. Even before his annoyed departure (and the deliberate sandblasting he'd given his wingmate), he'd known that Screamer was right – there was a good chance he'd go get himself tangled in the floor – but he was damned if he was gonna let _him_ know that.

He re-ran his GPS and tried to map out the bits he _did_ know. His map of the place wasn't exactly the greatest, because he'd not been thinking so straight when he'd got _out_, but he didn't know where the door was and couldn't exactly go _knock, _anyway. At least he knew where the cell was, and that horrible un-… undergr-… corridor. That might be enough. Hopefully. Oh Primus, it better be.

He triangulated his destination, crossed all his fingers very firmly, and engaged his gate…

…The corridor was cool and dark and empty, and Skywarp took a relieved quarter-breem to check he was in one piece and hadn't accidentally blended any part of himself with the furniture. Quantum entangling a thruster with the ground would have been the _least_ good outcome of this whole mess – hi Siphon, I'm back, and no shackles needed, because my foot is part of the floor! But all seemed fine; he stomped his feet and turned around full circle, to prove to himself he was still mobile.

He peeked out into what looked like the main corridor; good, all clear. It was sorta dingy, and the constricted purplish sides made his claustrophobia flare up, but at least it was wide enough that he could walk down the tunnel without either wingtip catching against the walls, and he found he disliked not knowing where he actually was in relation to everything else a whole lot _more_.

He stepped out into the corridor, and winced as his hollow heels echoed against the floor. It wasn't _that_ loud, but in the stifling quiet of the bunker it sounded like a gunshot. _Delicately, Warp_.

He'd inched his way as quietly as possible down a few hundred wingspans-worth of corridor, before spotting the little electronic device on the floor midway down the tunnel, tucked up in the corner formed where the rough floor met the wall.

Skywarp hesitated near it. He wasn't sure what it was about it, but he was instantly suspicious of it. Looked sorta like it was supposed to pass as a rock… if not for the flickering diode set in the side facing the wall. _Frag. _He backed up a step, then flattened himself against the further wall and inched past it. _I hope this isn't the "device" that squishy was talking about-_

He noticed the second set of footsteps _just _too late to do anything about it. _Frag. _The teleport froze – as if attempting to blend his stygian plating into the golden walls – and after a second a familiar blue figure rounded the corner. His own horrified scarlet optics met with Dirge's startled crimson stare.

"You-!" Dirge jumped back a step and waved an arm, threateningly; the irritated mosquito tones of charging weaponry already poisoned the air.

"Blinking lights!" Skywarp blurted out, pointing down at the device, and the very instant the Conehead glanced down at the whateveritwas, he teleported past him into the clear spot he could see further up the corridor-

_Ooh. More blinking lights_, he registered, a fraction of an astro second before the lights _stopped_ blinking and there was an audio-deadening _boom-_

0o0o0o0o0

At the _boom _from behind, Footloose jumped and crowded closer to Mitchell. "Mits, what that?"

He glanced back over his shoulder, and smiled quietly, satisfied, at the vision of dust and smoke rising from the cliffs behind him. "Oh, nothing…"


	30. Chapter 29

**Warped - Chapter Twenty Nine**

**Disclaimer:** As ever, author neither claims nor intentionally implies ownership of the 'Transformers' brand, or any character or concept herein, who are copyright 1984-present Hasbro/etc and used with much love and respect to their creators. (...Except where they're obviously OCs, which Hasbro would be silly to want to claim.)

**A/N:** Pretty much have one more chapter to go on this one. I hoped to get it finished before November, because my juggling two stories just isn't going to be pretty - at least, it wasn't _last_ year.

Oh well! Roll on NaNo.

* * *

The first thing that flashed through Skywarp's restabilising cortex was _fraggit why did I have to go and die _now?

What rapidly followed was the second thing, and that ran along the lines of _wait_… _"thinking" means not dead, right?_

Reassured by his little self-revelation, he _coughed_ detritus out of his vents with a low _thrum_ of his turbines, and briefly went blind again from all the whirling dust. _Ow ow ow, wingies hurting. Where was I before the world blew up?_

…the fourth thing which immediately sprang up in place of the relief was _underground buried in rocks holy slag get out now-!_

He lurched back to his feet with a sort of half-wail of dismay, flapping his hands frantically over his fuselage, as if trying to dislodge a thousand biting insects, spluttering half-angry half-frightened words. "Stupid-… stupid fragging-… undergr-… tunnels!" he scolded, not sure if he was scolding _himself_ or _Siphon _or the walls themselves, or a combination of all of it.

_Come on, quit all that fraggery, _he scolded himself, standing with his fists clenched and his arms rigid at his sides, hopping from foot to foot and trying to soothe his shakes and calm down. _It's no big deal. You might have just got blown up at, but you're still in one piece, __and__ you're still mobile. Autobots have done worse to you in the past, right? _His pessimistic side added _yeah but not normally __underground_, but he (for once) succeeded at ignoring it.

Not so bad, huh. He stared down at the piled stones, finally managing to unclench his fingers and have them not instantly begin to shake. The blast had been powerful enough to knock him backwards off his feet and into the wall, which had helpfully obliged by collapsing under the combined weight of Seeker and a few tonnes of rock, but far from powerful enough to significantly damage him.

Which left him thinking… was that _it_? Primus. The explosion had barely even scorched his exterior, had he not been underground? He'd have brushed it off and been none the worse for it. Screamer was right, it was so low-yield it was next to useless! Unless that _wasn't_ it, that had been some… some stupid… forerunner, a trick. The idea immediately made him uneasy; he turned full circle on the spot, giving the place a quick visual scrutiny, but no big device marked "bomb" was immediately obvious. In any case, getting out _right now_ would be the best idea he'd had all week.

…but he couldn't just leave, not if Lucy was still down here, buried and helpless under one of these heaps. He pinged for a location off her, unhappily – nothing came back. Which either meant she was out of range, or-… no he wasn't going to let himself contemplate the "or" part. That was all kinds of deep that he didn't want to think about just yet. He'd only think about "or" if he'd looked real hard and not found her, and as he was going to find her, "or" didn't matter, right?

Have to see if there was anyone else about, he decided, once his fans had finally slowed back to a normal pitch. See if they'd seen her, knew where she was. Skywarp gave himself one last desultory pat down, just checking for any last bits of damage, then resumed awkwardly edging his way down the ruined corridor – so what if it was strewn with boulders and he had to resort to _climbing_, half the time, at least the lighting had mostly survived the explosions, and all the dredges of fallen sand cushioned his echoing footsteps! See, there _was _a- a… what did the squishies call it? Silver lining.

He was reassured to find he hadn't been the only one to take a hit. Megatron was conspicuous in his absence, but the Coneheads were certainly still stuck down here, with Ramjet and Dirge occupied with digging their wingmate out of the rubble. Thrust had apparently taken the brunt of the explosion, because he was looking pretty well slagged, a long, thin shard of the purple alloy that _had_ lined the walls now jutting like a spear out of the upper left of his chassis; the components that spilled unhealthily out around it suggested the shard had gone _in_ through his back.

Thrust garbled something accusatory at Skywarp as he passed, but his vocaliser had apparently taken a whack and nothing that came out actually made sense, just a clattery bubble of mis-formed whistles and static. Dirge glanced up, following his wingmate's stare, but instead of going on the offensive he offered only a disparaging sneer, and went back to digging. Ramjet had already cleared the bulk of the detritus away from Thrust's left side, and didn't even bother looking up.

Neither asked for help, and Skywarp didn't feel obliged to offer it; Dirge had quite obviously passed him in the corridor to have got here, and hadn't lifted a finger to help get _him_ out of the rubble. The teleport happily left them to it; they'd be out in a breem or two, and good riddance.

The room that had formerly been the main control centre had presumably been the focus of the blast. It was mostly deserted, and thoroughly ruined; equipment was blackened, melted and smoking, the walls had crumbled, and the ceiling had given way entirely on one side, revealing shards of sunlight.

Mostly deserted, that is, except for… _Siphon_. Skywarp's dreary mood took a sudden turn for the better. The tanker was well and truly trapped; a selection of rough boulders covered his left arm and both legs, and more of that surly purple metal had dropped like a skewer down through his remaining free limb, impaling his elbow.

The teleport smiled, and quietly admired the scene. "Wow. So Primus _did _catch up with you at last, huh?"

The tanker's murky amber gaze flickered on, and he groaned pathetically. "It was that stupid _fleshling_, you idiot," he creaked. "Not some… some _divine retribution_."

"Oh, come on, from where _I'm _standing? It looks like a pretty nice bit of poetic justice-"

The tanker let his head drop back to the rubble, with a sigh of pain. "What do you _want_?"

"Well, I'll be generous, and give you a chance to guess. You're a smart li'l collection of parts, I'm sure you'll get it." Skywarp folded his arms and lounged against the wall, examining his fingertips.

Siphon didn't bother to look up. "I don't know where the little brat is."

"Oh, so now you've worked out you can't get what _you_ wanted, she's just a little brat?" Skywarp bristled. "Ok, fine. I'll do you a deal." He advanced a few steps. "You tell me where she is, and _maybe_ I'll leave you here a bit longer. You _might_ just manage to wiggle your way out of trouble." He leaned closer. "That's what you're _good at_, right? Even if it's pretty much the _only _thing."

Siphon met his gaze, boldly. "What assurance do I have that you'll keep your end of the bargain?"

"I don't think you're in _any _position to be trying to make deals, do you?" Skywarp curled his lip in a sneer. "You should be glad I'm not taking advantage of that beautifully unprotected spark." Purple fingers closed almost lovingly on a piece of raw, shattered alloy, plucked it up out of the detritus, and traced the jagged tip down the tanker's chassis, just hard enough to fill the air with the scream of metal against metal.

Siphon winced at the sound, turned his face away.

"How easy it'd be," Skywarp went on, tucking the end of his makeshift skewer into the hollow of the tanker's throat, "to just lean on this, and… _snip_…"

Siphon tensed and tried to pulled back, away from the biting pain. "I don't know where she is. I don't know where she is!" he blurted out; the Seeker only had his weight propped lightly against his weapon, but it still felt like the slightest little movement – the slightest little "accidental slip" – and it'd punch right through his main motor complex.

"Better try harder than that." Skywarp smiled, sweetly, and added his weight to the spar through the tanker's right elbow as well. "Where. Is she?" he asked, softly, putting just enough pressure on the skewer to make it _hurt_, while the smaller mech whined and jerked under him, trying futilely to pull his arm away.

"I don't know, I don't know! Honest…! The human must have took her," Siphon sputtered the words out, at last, gritting his denta in pain. "The verminous little glitch had been sneaking about all orn, I was about to ask him what he was up to when the world blew up."

"Oh he _must _have, must he?" Skywarp curled his lip. "It's nothing to do with where _you_ might have snuck her away to, or anything?"

"Don't you think I'd be in a better position to bargain with you if I did?" The tanker put on his very best, most pathetic face. "Please, I promise."

"Puh." Skywarp straightened, and speared the broken shard of wall covering into the sand alongside Siphon's head, missing him by microns. "I'll deal with you later," he sneered, scrambling up over boulders towards the glint of sunlight he could see. "Not like you're gonna _go _anywhere, and my wee one is more important than kicking you where you deserve to hurt. And hey, I'll soon come back to visit if you're lying!"

Siphon flopped back into the rubble, and groaned.

0o0o0o0o0

"…seriously, I can't see anything," Calibrator observed, pleadingly, for the umpteenth time, and Starscream had begun to strongly suspect that what she actually _meant_ was 'I'm not even looking now put me down please?' "I don't even know what I'm looking for. You don't even know it _exists_. Wouldn't it be better to just get out of here? Just in case? Please?"

"Why, Calibrator, you're _almost_ sounding – dare I say it? _Afraid,_" Starscream commented, in her audio. "_You're_ the one that bullied the little idiot into coming here, so _you_ can stay until we find her."

A low-powered positional request impacted his firewalls; Starscream turned his head at a flicker of lilac, and watched as Skywarp emerged from the ether.

The teleport glided up, and matched his wingmate's airspeed. "Anything?" he wondered, half-heartedly.

Starscream shook his head. "Nothing," he demurred, grimly, with a frustrated shake of his head. "Although Calibrator is _really _not helping."

She cringed in his arms, but didn't comment; being so high in the air had put a dampener on her apparent earlier drive to get herself slagged.

"And you blowing up Siphon's base of operations didn't help, either," Starscream went on, half-teasingly. "Half the search teams dropped what they were doing to check what was going on and see if you needed digging out."

Skywarp wrinkled his nose. "It wasn't _me_ did it," he retorted, sticking his tongue out. "That stupid fleshbag booby-trapped the place." He shot his wingmate a dirty look. "Thank you _so much_ for your usual concern."

Starscream made a dismissive noise. "You're made of rubber, you've bounced back from worse," he disregarded the concern, airily, then gave him a more serious look before Skywarp could get too bristly. "…no Footloose?"

Skywarp shook his head. "Couldn't find her. I think the human took her, and I'm not getting a reply off her location pinger," he replied, quietly. "I hope it's not too bad a sign. I mean… just… hoping she's out of range, you know? Or-or blocked. Not…" He dropped his gaze. "…uhm, not… in the really bad sort of trouble. You know."

_Not dead_, Starscream intuited. "If she's anything like her sire, then she's absolutely fine," he reassured. "She'll have just picked a silly place to hide."

"My hiding places aren't _silly_, they're _imaginative_," Skywarp argued, sniffily, and returned his gaze to the desert. There was so much _sand_ down there. It was all yellow and brown and dusty and _dull_, and she was probably as dirty as the… well, dirt. How was he ever supposed to find the little blip of spares down there? He pinged a positional request anyway, not holding out much hope for an answer.

…a little underpowered return ping responded to the request – garbled with electric distortions and impossible to pin down to an exact triangulation, nothing more than a _very _rough idea of which direction to head in to find the source, but it was a response! He stalled dramatically.

"What?" Starscream glanced back at him. "Everything all right?"

"I think that might have been her!" Skywarp concentrated and sent another location request, stronger this time; the response came back the same, feeble and garbled with electrical distortions, but whatever the human was using to block her signals, it wasn't working very well and at least he had something like a location! If he got close enough, she'd see him, and that'd solve the problem of where she was! "I'm gonna check it out!"

"Don't go do anything stupid!" Starscream cautioned, but Skywarp was already out of earshot, homing excitedly in on the signal. He sighed, irritably, and broadcast a message over the combined frequencies of the whole team. -_All right, you lot, better regroup and revise our strategy…- _

0o0o0o0o0

"Mits…? Mits? We not go find Ama? Mits?"

Rrgh. The little brat's continual questioning was getting on Mitchell's nerves. First thing he advised the Boss to do when he got it back to base would be to excise its damn voicebox. He swallowed down the desire to snap, and looked up to find her pointing at the helicopter; its engines were already singing noisily, its rotors swinging. "Soon, Footloose. Just let me finish here."

He'd long since decided that leaving things incomplete would be a very bad idea. Sure, he probably _could _make a dash for it, but he'd probably _also _end up with a pretty angry fleet of robot-aeroplane-whatevers on his tail long before he got to the safety of the US, especially if he still wanted to salvage the wee one. Now he'd got most of the damn machines _out_ of their little rat run, including the ringleader, he wanted to complete the job!

"But said to go to Ama!" the little femme protested, disappointedly.

"And we will, all right, hon? You just need to let me finish this, and we'll go."

Footloose examined the device the hooming was working with. It was an ugly-looking thing, in that horrible mean Decepticon purple-grey, and under the big circular lid it was shaped a bit like the "dough nuts" she'd seen Spike refuelling on. It had bits and pieces of Suishie writing on it, but she'd only learned to read the little bits of writing Spike had showed her and didn't understand what these long words meant. There was also some Cybertronian, which she _could_ read; 'Experimental explosive device recovered from crash site 9-1-A. Low yield. Maintain in controlled environment.' Experiment! That meant this was for making science with! But Mits didn't look like he enjoyed science.

"What this for, Mits?" she queried, applying an optic to the small window in the upper curve and watching the little blue lights all blinking inside.

"Hmm?" Mitchell glanced up at her, closing the access panel he'd been tinkering about with as he did so. It was a clumsy silver box welded onto the side of the smooth, dull purplish torus, apparently having been added by the human scientists that had 'found'/liberated/stolen the device, but it worked, and that was all that mattered. There was a low, sweet _thrum_ as a generator started up, deep inside. "This is something some very clever scientists designed. It's going to make this world safe!"

"How it do that?" she wondered, backing up so he could replace the lid and turn the 'dough nut' back into a sort of flattened sphere. "Is just hummy ball."

"Oh, it's a lot more than that." He clasped her hand gently in his own and began to lead her away to the waiting helicopter. "It's going to help us get rid of that mean old Megatron once and for all."

She gave him a frown. "How we to do that? Megatron very big!" she reminded, glancing back over her shoulder at the giant silver mech in the distance, on the clifftop. As she watched, he waved a fist at one of the Airlybots, but his irritable shot went wide. Did that mean Day was still here somewhere?

"That's right," Mitchell agreed, attracting her attention back. "But this is going to be _bigger_! And get rid of him forever."

She thought about the writing on the ball. Explosive – that meant it was a bomb, didn't it? "It make a splosion?" she wondered, perking her head to one side.

"That's right," he confirmed, although he seemed a bit… reluctant? "Come on, Footloose. We can talk about it in the helicopter, while I'm taking you home to Mommy. Okay?"

Footloose didn't like his tone of voice, but her desire to get back to Ama (because Ama would make the bad things go, and everything would be ok) was making it hard to think properly. Her little face pinched into a moue of concern and confusion. She was trying very hard to remember what little she'd learned from reading things at home and the telly visions here.

If the hummy ball was _here_… and it was going to make an explosion… explosions were… circles? And if it was going to destroy _Megatron_, who was quite far away… it would get to her family _first_ because they were _closer_! Before it got to Megatron, it would kill Ama, and Day, and Dack, and Sta'zim, and nice Ska'fie, and Sepp and Hack, and Larry and Vecks and the Airlybots and everyone-!

Had to move the thing, she decided, hurriedly. Silly Mits had made a mistake! She had to fix it. Her little teleport gate wasn't very powerful, but then this didn't look _too_ big and heavy… She could take it to the limit of her gate in the opposite direction to her family, and it could make its explosion where it wouldn't hurt anyone it wasn't meant to! She unexpectedly pulled free of his fingers and scampered back towards the device.

"Whoa, hey, wait-… wait! What are you doing, you little rat-?!" Mitchell chased after her, alarmed – Lordy, not now, not now! He grabbed for her, but too late – she had already engaged her gate. Robot, human and explosive all vanished from spacetime.

0o0o0o0o0

_Footloose! At last-…_ The tiny femme had _just_ appeared in his vision… when she unexpectedly flickered out of view.

"Aw, for frag's sake-!" Skywarp had to fight the urge to kick something, landing gracelessly in the spot the little wretch had just teleported _away_ from.

_Okay. Okay, calm_. He forced his fists to unclench. _She won't have gone far. Just… re-scan, work out where she's gone, and go pick her up._

0o0o0o0o0

"Stupid hooming!" Footloose rounded on Mitchell the instant they rematerialised, up on the plateau behind the cliffs. "What do that for?"

"_I'm_ stupid?!" he snapped. "What are _you_ doing, playing with this? Don't you get the concept of _explosion_?!"

"Know what explosions am. I move the ball!" Her little optics glittered angrily. "Stupid Mits put where will hurt _everyone_, not just Megatron!"

"Goddamnit-…" _Good going, genius. Smooth move there, pandering to its curiosity – just because it _acts_ like a toddler doesn't mean it has the _brains_ of a toddler. Now you're going to have to just get out of here and hope those stupid giant robotic aliens think it's dead. _"Okay, we'll leave it here, all right?" He tried to recover his lost advantage, gritting his teeth and forcing a gentle, reassuring tone of voice, trying to steer her away. "Let's go, shall we? Come on, hon, let's just do that clever teleporting thing you do and get us out of here."

"Can't," she replied, sullenly.

"What do you mean, you can't?" They were stood next to some kind of alien thermonuclear device and the stupid machine was having a _tantrum_?! "Listen, kid, you have to teleport us out of here," he insisted, grasping her shoulders and giving her a shake. "You have to get us out of the blast radius, or we're both dead, okay?"

"Have no fuel to get away any more!" she snapped back, shoving him off her. "Stupid hooming make too heavy! Fuel all gone."

"What?!" All the colour drained out of his face.

"Must run," she instructed, already heading back in the Amarna direction.

"We've only got a few minutes left-!" He chased her heels.

"So run _fast_, stupid hooming." No wonder Megatron didn't like them, she decided, listening to him complaining bitterly as he chased her. They always messed stuff up!

Footloose steadily increased her lead with every second; it helped that Mitchell was swearing at her and promising to do horrible things if he managed to catch her, which terrified her into a burst of extra speed. She'd covered a good three quarters of the distance, when there was a brilliant _flash_ from somewhere behind them as the plasma percussive went off. She ignored the growing desire to squeal for help, and concentrated on running. She had _just enough_ energon left that she could get over the cliff edge and to safety – but only if she was fast enough. If she stopped to cry out for Day, the explosion would get her – and so would Mitchell, she'd left him behind but he wasn't slow and he'd catch her and do all those the nasty things to her!

But it was like trying to outpace a flash flood. The rippling shockwave bore down on them, taking Mitchell clean off his feet with a drowned scream of pain; Footloose just managed to keep herself upright, managed to clear another few dozen metres-

Seconds after the sonic shockfront slammed into them, the superheated compression front caught up; a pressurised bubble of angry yellow-white superheated gas. At the very margin of her overloaded hearing, Footloose caught the tail of an abstract, fracturing scream from behind, as every bone in Mitchell's body turned to powder, just before his lungs imploded, but his remains vaporised before the charcoal that was left could even hit the ground. Then the front caught her, too; instantly crisped off her enamel and hurled her like a doll; bounced her across the sand and left her tangled in a little heap behind it.

The sparkling managed to regain her footing for three more automatic, tottering steps away from the crater of black glass behind her, before collapsing face-down on the glossy bubbles of what had once been sand. Half of her secondary and tertiary pumps had failed simultaneously, and her primary was sticking on every fifth or sixth revolution, the sensitive polymers warped and melted by the intense heat. Energon had vaporised and crystallised in her lines, and sand was sticking all over her overheated exterior.

_Hurts_, her stunned little brain said. _Needs fixings. Find Ama. Find Day. Find fixing._

She let her blurry optics offline, and broadcast as broad-spectrum a ping for help as she could manage.

0o0o0o0o0

Skywarp had already been homing in on another of those semi-useless little directional _pings_ when a blinding and _worrisome _flash of intense light _from the same direction _caught his interest. He put on a burst of speed, gunning his thrusters, alarmedly-

He crested the cliff only to be dealt a smart backhander by the blast front – far more powerful than those silly little devices in the tunnels – which sent him spinning out of control backwards. He'd caught himself and pulled out of his inverted nosedive just before he could destroy another stand of date palms – _fraggit, __second time today! Primus, if I _deserve_ a slagging, could you, y'know, do it _after_ I've rescued the Button?_ But Primus had other plans, it seemed, as the great bubble of plasma finally expended the last of its fury in the hostile, late-afternoon Egyptian sky, and a tiny, faint little wordless request for _help please_ followed it off the cliff.

He chased the faint little ping, already feeling awkwardly wobbly – well, she was alive, because she'd managed to call out, right? But in what sort of condition was he gonna find her? Primus, please-… he crossed his fingers arrived at his destination to find… the person he least wanted to see with her, on the margins of the melted sand. Before his horrified gaze, Megatron stooped, and when he straightened… a slack little dark-coloured doll hung from his fingers. He landed with an awkward urgency, almost tripping over this own thrusters in his haste, not entirely sure what he planned on doing – bludgeoning _Megatron _seemed like a spectacularly bad idea, but what else was he gonna do? _Bargain _with him? Skywarp would have laughed at the idea, if it wasn't such a bad time.

"Well well. Skywarp. You made it, albeit late as usual," Megatron commented, dryly, and gave the Seeker's outstretched hands a curious look. "Are you trying to bargain with me, or just plead forgiveness?"

Skywarp glanced down at his palms, not even remembering when he put his arms out. _May as well leave 'em there, now. Not like I can look any more stupid_. "I just-… I just want Lucy. That's all." He tripped over the words.

"And your new friends are here to ensure I do, is that it?"

Skywarp followed the warlord's gaze down to the sand below, where at least half a dozen others had gathered, and more were still arriving, gathering by a little stand of palms a hundred or so yards away. He could hear Starscream coming in to land behind him, too. Whether they'd all been attracted by the blast, or whether they'd seen Megatron, Skywarp found he didn't really care. He consoled himself that they would be there to act as backup, not just nosey onlookers.

"Please. I don't wanna fight you," Skywarp said, quietly, trying not to let his outstretched, upturned hands shake. _Any minute now, that enormous frickin' cannon is gonna obliterate my midsection. _"I just want my little one back."

Megatron glanced briefly down and sideways at the sparkling in his large hand; his fingers were just tight enough around her neck to stop her falling to the floor, and she hung from her scruff like an unhappy marionette made of soot and old rubber, limbs slack where its strings had all burned through, whimpering very softly.

Before the teleport to jump to defend himself, the warlord stretched out his arm and took a step or two forwards… and deposited Footloose roughly against Skywarp's chest. The Seeker startled, and jerked his arms up around her before she could slump to the floor. It was only now, finally safe in her sire's arms, that she began to cry; soft little burbling staticky sobs of hurt and relief.

"She needs medical attention," the warlord instructed, grimly. "Get it for her."

"What? But-"

"I will not tell you again, Skywarp. Go!"

Skywarp didn't need telling a third time; he was gone like a streak of dark lightning, bawling for a medic as loudly as he could get his vocaliser to go.

Which left Starscream alone (and uneasy) with his former leader atop the cliff. The jet was just gearing up to make his insults and run for it when the silver giant broke the silence.

"This will be the only time I say this, Starscream," Megatron said, unexpectedly quietly. "You and your brothers have two options. You may return to my ranks, and all will be… _forgotten_, to a certain degree, although never forgiven. _Or…_" He gave his former second a hard look. "You may go your own way."

"What's the catch?" Starscream challenged, softly, and folded his arms. Arguing over the familial epithet seemed pretty pointless, at this stage in the game.

Megatron matched his stare. "Simple. Never again will any of you be permitted back into the faction. You will be given no quarter, no forgiveness, no chance to plead your case – you will simply be shot dead. This time will be the _only_ time you _ever_ walk away from me as an enemy and unharmed."

"How generous of you. The sparklings must have rubbed off on you," Starscream sniped, daringly, at which Megatron shot him a glare, but all his weaponry remained offline; _seemed he was serious enough about his offer, at least_.

Wearily, the warlord glanced down at his feet, his one admission of something akin to sorrow, before speaking again. "The irony of this is not lost on me," he admitted, quietly, and chuckled, bitterly. "_I_ am very nearly pleading with _you _not to leave my side. All the times you crawled and begged for another chance, I never thought I would find myself in the same position. You must have knocked some bolts loose, the last time you stabbed me in the back." He forced a bitter smile. "But – as I said to Thundercracker – you three were all valuable assets to my campaign. I would rather welcome your treachery _back _than lose you to a side where I have to destroy you, and I would rather have you return through choice than because your hand has been _forced_. If that requires, ah… certain agreements be made… I am willing to make them. To which end, Skywarp's… offspring…" He paused, long enough to make a face that spoke volumes about his distaste at the idea of Skywarp _procreating_. "…may return home." Beat. "I don't want such unruly little specimens in the faction."

Starscream just stared, for several long moments.

"Have I finally found the key to getting you to shut up, Starscream?"

The red Seeker didn't qualify the jibe with an answer, glancing instead back down at the desert; in the middle distance, Skywarp had accosted Forceps and thrust Footloose into her care, and was now busy getting in the way under the pretence of "helping". Thundercracker – still looking after _and_ being looked after by Slipstream – had his chin up and his arms folded across his chassis; he looked back at them out of dim but defiant maroon optics. His one good wing was in just the right place to make a barrier between Megatron and the others; it was little more than a warning, because even the diminutive Surefire could probably have pushed the injured Seeker over, but the sentiment it espoused came through loud and clear. _You want them, you'll have to get through _all_ of us._

At least _someone_ knows what they want, Starscream mused, grimly. The idea of actually _turning away_ from something he'd fought for so long was like a kick in his power regulator, or a slug of bad energon that rippled ugly feedback through his chassis. It was like accepting defeat, which was particularly distasteful after the vision of his former leader chewing out a request for him to stay. If he said "thanks, but no thanks", Megatron had _won_. All those countless millennia of struggle, trying to prove he was as good as he said he was _and_ genuinely better than their bucketheaded so-called leader, would have been for nothing. Just another long-term pretender to the Decepticon leadership, ultimately incapable of living up to his boasting, and defeated just like all the rest.

But-… he couldn't drag his wingmates back into it, and they'd effectively just confirmed as much with their actions. If he re-challenged Megatron, this time it would be alone. The trine would be broken, and for no reason better than "Starscream's bull-headedness" – and he sorely doubted Thundercracker would manage to pull through without all three of them staying together.

Swallowing down the pride that was making the words stick in his vocaliser, Starscream lifted his chin and affected his usual superior sneer. "We'll take our chances," he answered, at last. "We'll do better out there and away from _your_ so-called leadership than we will _in_ this stagnating, decrepit old faction."

"Very well," Megatron inclined his head, and actually looked… disappointed. For all of a second before the glare and hooded brows came back. "Just stop pushing your luck!"

0o0o0o0o0

When the police chief finally tracked him down, Starscream was sitting perched on the remains of a wall in the human village, his head propped between his hands, his elbows on his knees. He looked… well, _despondent_ didn't look like it was too far off the mark.

"Starscream?"

The only thing that actually moved was the jet's optics; his gaze came up off his feet to give his visitor the briefest of scrutiny before dropping back down to the sand. "Hardline."

The Policebot didn't bother asking _are you all right_, because the former Decepticon clearly wasn't. Instead, he walked over, his ponderous steps making the ground shudder, and eased his bulk carefully down onto the wall beside him. "So. Given any thought to what you're going to do now?" the tank wondered, amiably.

Starscream snorted a raspberry through his vents, then pursed his lips, and shook his head. "Plenty of _thought_, and for all my smarts, I honestly have no idea," he sighed, tiredly, watching the humans scurry about and get things tidied up. "I don't know there's anywhere we _can_ go. We couldn't go _home_, even if we wanted; I think we've finally exhausted Megatron's stock of second chances. And we can hardly go live with the Autobots!" He actually laughed at the idea, although the sound was the harsh creak of a metallic crow. "That would be the joke of the vorn." He affected his most dramatic voice, and intoned; "_Ultimately defeated by the better warrior, Starscream gives up trying to oust Megatron from the top spot, and decides to go for Optimus' position instead_."

Hardline chuckled, although it had an offhandedness about it. "Well… _we're_ still looking for a forensics lead, you know," he commented.

Crimson optics slid sideways to meet azure ones. "What?" The red jet's tones were uninterpretable – not sure if he should be _suspicious_ or _surprised_.

"Winnower's been trying to maintain the post, but the fact is he's just not got the expertise," Hardline went on, feigning oblivious, lifting a foot out of the way so one of the humans could retrieve a sheet of corrugated iron from underneath. "And we've not been able to recruit anyone else, yet. Whether we don't have enough specialists around, or the district is too quiet for anyone to want it, no-one's worked out. The pile of unsolved cases on Boxer's desk is pushing him towards a-… what's the term? Nervous breakdown. And the senate – what's left of it – is leaning harder on him for results."

"Remind me why this is even worth the amount of my time I'm spending listening to you talk about it," Starscream growled, although he didn't sound _quite _so imperious and angry as he wanted.

"Well, it's got all the things you need, at least in the short term," the tank reminded, gently. "No-one says you have to stay, if you don't want – it's just a way of making a few credits to support yourselves while you're recovering, and it's better than living in a warehouse and scraping by on what you can steal. Pluuus… you'd have a command. Lots of little underlings to boss about. Power to influence society. Respect. Somewhere to play at being mad scientist. _And_ we're, well… I hate to say _friends_, as such, but we're not quite all-out killing-each-other enemies just yet either. Right?"

Starscream returned his stare to his thrusters, and made a dismayed face, reluctantly forced into actually _considering _the offer.

"Besides." Hardline gave him a more serious look. "There's a portion of society believes you still owe them something – without getting into the semantics of which side is actually in the 'wrong', in a war like this… they want apologies for war crimes, and this could be the ideal way of making amends. At very least, it'd silence the naysayers, for a little while."

"That's assuming we feel obliged to work for the good of society." The jet lifted his chin, challengingly. "What has _society _ever done for _us_, except mould us into the bad guys? Kick us to the bowels of Kaon, pinion our wings, force us to Megatron's side because he was the only one who didn't want us _grounded_?" He narrowed his gaze, crimson burning hotly out from under his brows.

Hardline inclined his head. "For that, I'm sorry," he accepted, quietly, and shrugged, apologetically. "I know it's not much, coming from one big idiot who managed to skip over most of the war by living where no-one really experienced it, but... Maybe we should ignore the semantics. Apologies for war crimes, puh. I suppose we're all criminals, just by merit of being at war. Maybe it's just... another chance, I suppose. I know Sepp wants the three of you to succeed," he admitted. "She'd never openly say it without an aft-load of semantics to hide the sentiment, and she'll probably chew my audios off for me telling you…" He smiled, lopsidedly. "…but she's said a couple of times that she thinks you deserve a second chance. Frag, I do, too. You're not so bad as Autobot scandalmongers say you are. Just… different principles, right? We were all still working for the good of Cybertron, even if we were squabbling over how we did it."

Starscream made another of those non-committal sounds that could have meant anything, and lifted his head to watch Skywarp approaching, a small foil-wrapped cluster of what looked like bits of coal snuggled against the top of his cockpit, its scorched little head up under his chin. "What about you, Warp?" he challenged, glumly. "Any ideas where we go from here?"

"Eh?" Skywarp gave him a puzzled look. "You run out of smarts, or something?"

Starscream wrinkled his nose in a self-deprecatory sneer, and nodded. "Megatron's given us – given _me_ – an ultimatum. We're targets to shoot at, as of now, unless I can put some sort of spin on all this that means he changes his mind."

"Well, I guess you _could_ try wiggle it so we're back in the faction." Skywarp parked his aft by his wingmate's feet. "But y'know, I'm thinking it's not so bad out here, anyway. We ain't really done much _as_ Decepticons in the last vorn or two, have we? Not made any 'significant advances for the faction'," he snorted humourlessly at the idea, "unless you count stealing a cube or two of energon from under Auto-dork noses. Back home, everyone's kinda forgotten the war, it was so long ago that anything really _happened_, and…" He shrugged, with one shoulder. "The only ones still interested in fighting are Megs and Prime. Why should we get shot at on his behalf? Not like he gives a flying frag about _us_. Might as well just go home, you know?"

" 'Home'?" Starscream challenged, gently. "Where are you defining home _as_, Warp?"

"Cybertron, obviously. Duh. Where are _you_ defining it as? 'Autobot Central'? " Skywarp poked out his tongue. "You only wanna stay there 'cause you want to get jiggy with Skyfire."

Starscream's expression grew more thunderous. "…if you're seriously inviting a punch in the faceplates, there's easier ways to do it."

Skywarp thumbed his nose at him.

"Even if going home meant getting a 'proper job', and working for a living?" the former Air Commander challenged. "No slacking off, no pranks, no afting around when you should be working?"

Skywarp looked up and met his commander's gaze. "You know what? Yeah. I want to _do_ something, for a change," he confirmed, unexpectedly. "You know. Actually _do_ something, even if it's some old official smelt back on Cybertron, because frag, it's _home_. No squishies, no sand, and no _mud_. Primus, I have _never_ had so many freaking baths as I have since waking up here."

Even Starscream managed a smirk at the last sentiment. "You're never going to be a model of cleanliness, are you, Warp?"

Skywarp snorted and deliberately leaned his weight back against their knees.

"How's the wee one?" Hardline wondered, softly, changing the subject to something a little less controversial. He brushed a large finger over the stubby little antennae, melted short by the heat of the blast.

"Needs a lot of work doing, but she'll be all right," Skywarp replied, with a lopsided grin. "A lot of it's jus' cosmetic, anyway, the blast didn't go on long enough to heat her core up too much. Now she's cooled down a bit, her pumps are running better. Sepp says she must be made of rubber, 'cause she bounces back quick."

Hardline chuckled. "Having seen some of her more spectacular falls, I'd agree with that."

"She's like her Day. Can't keep a good machine down."

"Well." Starscream levered himself to his feet, deliberately leaning hard on Skywarp's shoulder to push himself up; the teleport made semi-outraged noises and tried to jerk the blue hand off him. "Whatever we're going to do, we better get out of this dust-bowl, so long as we have enough transports to carry everyone. This is not the place for getting fallen comrades back on their feet…"


	31. Chapter 30

**Warped - Chapter 30**

**A/N: **And at last! After almost… 5 months of waiting (bah)… the final chapter is completed! Thanks to all those who have been kind enough to review, and keep me on track! (And especially those who have prodded me about inconsistencies and got me to improve my game a bit.)

(For those curious folk: I 'won' my Nano, but still haven't finished the story. ¬_¬)

FYI - "eclosion" is (among other things) the process where a butterfly emerges from its chrysalis. I just thought it fitted what I was trying to describe. ^_^

* * *

The return 'home' was not the sort of triumphant return that Starscream had wished for before they'd set out, as the little group came in for a semi-graceful landing outside the _Ark_, but at least they were _all_ back, and he was grateful the fates had at least allowed them that much. After all the smelt that had been thrown in their faceplates over the last few Terran months? Although he'd never have voiced the concerns to Skywarp, he'd spent most of the campaign semi-convinced they'd just be bringing back a couple of bodies.

The welcoming party bristled with the usual heavy armoury, but most of it was pointed downwards, for a change. More of a, a… _just in case_, rather than a we-expect-trouble-from-you. Optimus stood at the very front, watching, and unfolded his arms as the travellers approached; to the red Seeker, it looked like he was trying to present a non-hostile, non-threatening face to the awkward machines now approaching. After all, if _he_ remained calm, hopefully so would his warriors, and with no overt targets to shoot at, perhaps the weapons of their former enemies would remain powered-down, too. Starscream gave the remains of his trine a bitter, disappointed glance, and wished they were in any kind of shape that would even make it _possible_ to shoot.

The scarlet jet stood and held the Prime's gaze for several long moments, watching from the periphery of his vision as Forceps guided a blanket-wrapped Thundercracker carefully into the _Ark's_ main entrance corridor, with an aggressive Skywarp doing big protective back-and-forth circles around them like some sort of bizarre, over-armed sheepdog. (He was clearly serious because he was almost silent, not even _trying_ to goad the Autobots with insults.) The broken blue jet was still determined to make it to the medical suite on his own two feet, even if his stride was a slow shuffle and he had to cling to the big femme just to remain upright. Footloose hung precariously to her sire's shoulder-vent, which threatened to make the image even more absurd, but just made the dark Seeker look more like the sort of devoted, angry parent that no-one should cross if they valued the continued functioning of their spark. Slipstream took a moment or two to gaze in awe at the rest of the assembly of Autobots, before scampering after his sister, half excited to be here, half anxious about being separated from his family again.

Starscream dropped his gaze briefly to the ground, vented long-held stale air in a tired sigh, and studied his thrusters for a moment or two, rehearsing the words before trusting his vocaliser enough to voice them without going discordant. "I'd like to negotiate a more permanent cease-fire," he explained, quietly, bringing his gaze back up to study the Autobot's reaction.

There were murmurs from the crowd, but none of the usual suspicious assertions that it must be a trick. Seeing what remained of Thundercracker was apparently enough to convince most onlookers that the fallen air commander was serious, at least for the short term.

Optimus nodded, barely even raising an eyebrow. "Of course. But we can discuss particulars in my office, not on the doorstep." He gave the rest of the crowd a look, then waved his former enemy into the main entrance. "I'm sure they'll disagree, but I don't think the peanut gallery needs to have any input, just now…"

0o0o0o0

Night had finally descended, and the mixed bag of fliers and Policebots had long since departed, when activity around the ruins of Siphon's little Egyptian base picked back up.

Unfortunately for him, the control room of the tanker's underground bolt-hole had been within the radius of the 'Sun Grenade' blast. Perhaps also unfortunately, Megatron had recognised how underpowered the device had been – by human standards, the explosion had been one of _terrific _heat and noise and raw power, but it would have barely singed the plating of the average adult Cybertronian, and certainly not been lethal. Even a _sparkling_ survived it. Which meant there was a good chance that the injured mech _was _still alive.

Scrapper was the only one down on the floor of the new crater, his treads crunching over the brittle substrate, but he seemed happy enough to be working without his fellows getting in his way. Not that there was much to find; the sandstone that hadn't been vaporised in the fireball had instead been turned to glass, leaving behind a shallow crater of sickly black glass. The open mouths of tunnels pocked the floor in an even blacker black than the scorched ground, drinking in all light that fell by them.

The Constructicon paused near the edge, curiously, and re-ran his scan over a particular little spot of scarred ground. "Yes… yes. There's definitely _something_ down here," he confirmed. "Could be a spark. Could be salvageable!" He hesitated, waved his primary sensor for a moment or two, appearing almost aimless, and when he finished his report, he sounded genuinely disappointed. "…but it's too weak to get a good reading, and there's too many exotic particulates for me to tell without digging it out. Could just be the generator."

Megatron stared down into the crater for a long time, looking… tired. Old, even.

"Sir?" Scrapper prompted, awkwardly. "Um… did you want-"

"Do it," Megatron commanded, at last, in an unexpectedly quiet, sombre voice. "Dig it out. I want to find out if there's anything at all down there that's worth saving."

"S-sir?"

Megatron wrinkled his nose in an angry glare; he didn't particularly appreciate the way they were all _looking_ at him, as if he'd lost his mind. "I've already lost three vaguely competent warriors in this useless debacle," he said, grimly. "Perhaps four, if Hook can't restabilise Thrust's harmonics. So I plan to salvage anything I possibly can from this mess. Whatever _else _he might be, Blue displayed a talent for psychological persuasion I could use."

"Well, he gives _me _the creeps-" Dirge started, but quickly went silent at noticing Megatron's glower.

"What you _do_ and _do not_ want is of little consequence to me, Dirge," the warlord snapped, stabbing a finger for threatening emphasis. "Be glad my concern for your trine's overall health is currently greater than my desire to punish you for letting Thundercracker escape in the first place."

Dirge retreated a step or two behind Ramjet, found himself an interesting grain of sand between his thrusters, and concentrated on counting its sides. "…yessir. Sorrysir."

0o0o0o0

Down in the Autobot medical suite, Thundercracker sat on a berth with his back curved, quietly putting up with the irritating pick-pick of Forceps' surgical tools working down his ruined wings, and the sporadic internal buzzing of a badly tuned communications relay.

"…I suppose it's fitting," he said, in a voice that did nothing to hide his crippling exhaustion.

"Hmm?" Forceps glanced up, midway through 'unzipping' the plating holding his ruined wing on his back. His 'good' wing already lay on the surface of the nearby berth, to help him maintain his precarious stability – behind them, so he didn't have to look at it. "What is?"

"That when we finally crashed and burned out of the war, we'd do it pretty spectacularly." He gave a quiet little bark of humourless laughter. "And that Primus should reserve his most enthusiastic kicking for the one with the biggest chip on his shoulder." His voice dwindled down to a rasp. "What a way to make a point, eh. Let's see to it that the stupid slagger who is most disparaging of groundlings gets _beaten_ by a groundling, _rescued _by groundlings, _turned into_ a fragging cowardly dirt-crawling piece of-"

A gentle hand covered his mouth; he startled, very slightly, and swallowed his words.

"Don't you _dare,_" Forceps instructed, seriously, "give that psychopath validation by associating his actions with some kind of divine intervention. All you're going to end up doing is giving meaning to his actions." She shook her head and straightened up, letting her fingers remain on his shoulder for a few more comforting seconds. "He shouldn't even be worth a lingering place in your thoughts."

"You think I should just… brush this all off?" Thundercracker challenged, quietly. "Forget it all happened? Act like it was no big deal, life goes on as normal?"

"No." She forced a smile, gently removing the last shattered piece of plating from his back and using an inbuilt air-jet to puff away the traces of sand that had worked their way behind it. "Even emotionally-stunted old grouches like me know that some things can't just be magically wiped away with a bit of…" _What was it Starscream called it?_ "… of 'handwavium'. Just… treat it like it is. It was terrible. _He_ was terrible. He did things with the sole intention of breaking you, hurting your friends, punishing your brothers for having the gall to defeat him in a fair fight. But that was _all_ it was – cruel, blind revenge. Not... not some Primus-sent punishment for war crimes, not something you _deserved_ in any way, shape or form, for whatever made-up reason he fed you... just meaningless cruelty. Calling it anything more than that-"

"...will mean I _didn't_ have the bolts beaten out of me for _nothing._" Thundercracker finished the sentence for her, miserably. "I can't help it, Sepp. If none of this _means_ anything, if it was all pointless and all that struggle was for nothing, I just-…" His words grew muddled. "They… they kept telling me I was worthless, and I believed them, and this just… it just… if it all meant nothing, it… _confirms_ everything. You know?"

"No, I don't. Because you're not." The surgeon instructed, underlying her words with a gruff attempt at a soothing harmonic. She applied the sheet of tough film carefully to the raw circuitry of his back, and applied a low heat to get it to shrink into place, forming a protective temporary covering. "If you believe nothing else I tell you, at least trust me when I say you'll get through this, and probably stronger for it. You've survived the war, you survived life as an active Decepticon warrior, and some of the things you've seen? Must have been _countless _times worse. And even after everything Siphon did to break you, you survived. _All of you _survived. And with a bit of time, you'll heal."

"The war was different," he argued, quietly. "The war at least had the smallest smidge of _meaning_. Wasn't just me willingly brutalising someone _already _injured and defenceless, because I'm so weak-minded I just go along with what I'm told-"

"Hey, come on, stop that. You know that's not true. If it was, people would be saying the same about you regarding the entire war." His head sagged, and she realised it had been a bad choice of words; he probably knew people _did_ say that about him. She cursed inwardly and gave herself an inner kick, and hastily added; "and even if they_ do_, you know they're wrong. Starscream would never let anyone get away with calling you the _sane _one of the trine if you weren't."

"But-… All the things I did-"

"-were things you had no control over. You were being played, TC. He was a… puppeteer, if you like. He knew your weak points, he knew what they'd do to you, and he focused his attention on them. And you know why? _To get you to react like this!_"

"But-"

"For goodness sake, pick your spark up off the floor, Thundercracker!" she scolded, resisting the urge (but only just) to give him a swat around the back of the head. "Right now, you're just wallowing around down there in self-pity. It's like you _want_ them to reject you out of hand, so you have an excuse to feel sorry for yourself! You have family around you, who _want_ to help you, to get you through this – and you'll be stronger for it!" She put her heat gun back onto the trolley, and vented hot air in a frustrated _sigh_. "If you keep pushing them away, rejecting their help for no reason other than you think you don't _deserve_ it? If I ever heard anything so _stupid_! They _will_ give up on you. You'll have no option other than to struggle through on your own, a martyr of your own making. Just _trust _me when I say you need _help_ after trauma like this."

She'd clearly bruised his feelings, because his optics glittered an irritable crimson, and the aura of self-pity had turned into one of prickly defensiveness. His shoulders had hunched, and she could tell that his wings would have hiked up, had they been attached. "What is this, _voice of experience_, surgeon?"

She held his gaze, angrily. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes." Her voice dropped to a growl. "Because I was too ashamed of what happened, too proud to talk to my friends, and too fragging _stubborn_ to accept the help they offered? I had to muddle my way through the early days of the war all on my own."

"Big deal. So did everyone else," he cut back, sharply.

"_Not everyone _had just had their uneclosed sparkling _die_ inside them-" She sliced the tail of the words off, brusquely, embarrassed that she'd gone so far as to actually voice what had been prickling at her for the last few orns. "The war killed far too many good machines, and we have _frag all_ except a _mostly-dead planet _to show for it," she snapped, trying to cover her slip-up; as though if she talked enough, maybe he'd miss the fact that she said it. "And I'll be damned if I'm going to just stand by and watch as yet another decent spark rolls over and lets it beat him."

"Maybe I'm _tired_ of all this," he argued, glaring half-heartedly up from beneath hooded brows; she stood close enough to him that he could feel her bristly static envelope. "Maybe I'm already beaten."

"Fine, then." She abruptly downed tools, and waved a threatening finger. "Maybe _I'm_ fed up of wasting my time, too, if you can't even be bothered to look after _yourself_."

Thundercracker listened to the angry thumps of her departing footsteps, and sighed, softly, curling protectively in on himself. It hurt to think that maybe she was right – and hurt to think he was doing exactly what she said he was doing, bruising feelings and pushing everyone away. Maybe he _was_ just… torturing himself. But-… not for no reason, not to feel like a martyr. Just in a quiet desperation to find something to prove he still meant something. Still had some value. While people were paying attention to him, he wouldn't just fade into the background and slowly disappear-

"…Thundercracker?"

The soft little raspy voice made him jump harder than it should have; belatedly, he recognised the muddled communications he'd been receiving as positional requests, and worked out it wasn't a badly tuned communications relay but that someone had been looking for him. He turned his head to find a familiar dirty-grey little Policebot standing just behind and to one side of him. "…Pulsar?"

She managed a strange, hesitant little smile for him, and very briefly wiggled her spasming fingers _hello_; she had a length of brightly-coloured cloth tied around her head, blinding her optics, and a pale blue shawl to hide her missing limb, and her whole arm was shaking where it wrapped protectively around her chest… but she wasn't running away from him.

There was a very long beat of near-silence; her lips hung open, but only the faintest of static emerged. Thundercracker waited for her to buckle, confess she was terrified just being near him, plead forgiveness and run away.

At long last, she gave a distorted little 'cough' and rebooted her vocaliser. "Are-… how are you?"

He wanted to explain about his wings, but it hurt to think about, and he found himself unable to get the words out. "…functioning," he managed, at last.

She advanced another couple of tiny steps, waving her hand in midair as though looking for him; he thought about reaching for her hand, but changed his mind before he could grab her. Instead, he lifted his arm, and placed it carefully in the way of her questing fingers. She startled at bumping against him, but rapidly recovered, and moved all the way up to his side.

"Where are-… they took-…" Her hand waved aimlessly in the space that should have contained his wings. "I'm sorry."

He stared at the floor, listlessly. "Yeah. Me too." He sighed, softly. "Had to take them off to fix them. Not like I could fly with what's left." He hesitated, for the briefest of instants, weighed up what Forceps had said, and decided to confide in his fellow former prisoner. "Not like I even _want_ to fly, right now."

She remained silent. For a _Seeker _to be reluctant to take to the air… "I, uh-… I heard what Sepp was saying to you," she volunteered, trying to change the subject and get his mind off his wings.

"Yeah." He snorted a humourless little laugh. "Way to kick a guy when he's down, huh. We'll make him grateful for what he _does_ have. You got off easy. At least you're still alive. It could have been a lot worse. How _dare _you bitch about it-"

"She didn't mean it like that," Pulsar interrupted, hastily. "I-I mean… She never talks about-… _that_. Not even to us." She groped blindly for his arm, for a second, and rested her fingers on his shoulder when she finally found him; the gesture surprised him into a temporary silence. "She probably only mentioned it accidentally, because she's worried about you," she went on, faintly. "You know she's about as good with her emotions as… as…"

"Screamer?" Thundercracker suggested.

"I was going to say a brick," Pulsar mused, gently. "But… I guess it's much the same sentiment, right?"

They shared a very brief, strained chuckle.

"I just… guess I can't believe you guys are as willing to _forgive _this abject smeltery as everyone says," the broken Seeker explained, finally finding the right words to explain. "After I could have fought him, could have _resisted_, and instead I just… did everything he told me to." He gazed down at his damaged fuselage – the creases in his wrists where he'd been pinioned too tightly, the chips and dents from his various crashes – and admitted, bluntly; "I'm waiting to wake up from my hallucination, and find I'm still trapped in that… that _noxious little hole_ under the desert. He fed me so many different virals I can barely believe my own sensors when they tell me this is _real_. Small wonder I don't believe you guys when you say you want to help me."

Pulsar managed a tiny smile. "Believe it, Thundercracker. If not for you, I'd probably be greyed out in a million pieces, scattered across the globe like some sort of hideous scavenger hunt. You kept me alive, you saved my life, and you got me out," she explained, softly. Her fingers were very nearly convulsing where they pressed against his arm, they were shaking so hard, but she was making no move to back off. "I promise, if I can? I'll do the same for you."

0o0o0o0

As should have been expected, Footloose and Slipstream ultimately took over the corridors. Although Jazz had given them some more paper, in an attempt to lift Footloose's mood, they ended up painting on each other, and for once it _hadn't_ been Footloose that started it.

The little femme was obviously pretty shaken by her experiences in the desert. A quick check-up by Forceps as soon as they'd got in had confirmed it was mostly external cosmetic damage, nothing bad enough to need a temporary repair until they got home and could do it properly – Jazz affectionately joked it was a 'suntan', which comforted her a tiny bit – but then the surgeon had needed to attend to greater things, and left the twins to their own devices. For Footloose, that involved snuggling up to Ama in her private room and just... _staying _there; quiet, and sad, and a lot more clingy than normal, apparently still scared, frightened into a subdued little silence. Rather than spend every spare waking minute looking for new things, she was content to just _sit_. Ama always made the bad things go away, so she fully intended to _stay_ with Ama until they were safely back in Deixar.

Pulsar let them stay in her lap until Slipstream started to get twitchy, at which point she comm'ed Jazz for a little assistance. The saboteur had proved himself strangely adept at looking after Footloose, and with any luck he'd have more joy at cheering both sparklings up than _she_ was having.

Slipstream had bounced on the spot and clapped his hands at seeing the enormous pad of coloured paper that Jazz produced, and immediately got stuck in with the paint; the extensive blobs of blue and yellow and purple suggested the abstract picture was probably – but only _probably_ – family. Footloose had just _sat_, for several breems; she'd started out with an attempt at painting a picture, but ended up filling her pieces of paper with sad, distracted little circles of muddy green paint. _Not want play. Want sit with Ama._

Slipstream had watched her for a while, his own scribbling getting slower and more distracted, until at last he leaned forwards and painted a little four-point blue star on the upper right quadrant of her scorched chest. It was rather smudgy and lacked the "face" present on the real insignia, but it was obvious what it was; a little Policebot emblem. She found him a little smile from somewhere.

Letting Slipstream take the lead for a little while seemed to pull her mood up. They spent a cycle or two busy giving out "parking tickets", in the form of carefully torn up bits of yellow paper with abstract attempts at Cybertronian writing on, and investigating "traffic violations" in the corridors. (Neither sparkling was particularly sure what one of the latter was, but they'd heard the hoomings talk about them on the "cop shows" Spike had been watching on the television, so figured it must be a good thing for them to investigate.) Hound finally swooped in to rescue his comrades from the antics of over-energetic sparklings, and took them away to explore outside.

The aftermath of the orn's activities resulted in Footloose sitting on the spare berth in the medical suite, her arms folded sullenly across her chest, shoulders rounded and lips grumpily pursed, patiently waiting while Slipstream picked her shoulder joint clean. Both were filthy – not only covered in mud and bits of twig from their romp outside to find "flowers" (read: broken foliage, but it was a fair effort) for Ama, but Footloose was also covered in glue after getting into Spike's stationery drawer in her quest for more exciting art materials. A great shiny plaque of it drooled down the side of her neck, all the way from her blinker to the top quadrant of her chest, and her shoulder was so gummed up it was frozen in place. The resident medics were happy to let Slipstream try and deal with it, at least in the short term; it kept the pair mostly out of trouble, to start with, and saved them a job if it was going to just be a minor cleanup operation.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Ratchet commented, amusedly, watching as the little mech carefully peeled a long rind of dried glue out of his sister's shoulder, "if Skywarp doesn't find he ends up with a nurse in the family."

Forceps had returned to the infirmary after spending a breem or two in the sanctuary of Hardline's gentle arms; the police chief knew exactly what had upset her, and just let her silently rest her head on his shoulder until the static faded from her voice. "Beg pardon?" She looked up from the spare Aerialbot wings they were now trying to jerry-rig in such a way they'd fit Thundercracker, just long enough to get him home, and gave the Autobot medic a quirked-brows glance.

Ratchet gestured to the twins. "The little guy's got a big spark in there, bless him. He might not have the smarts to make it as a doctor, but I'll bet you he could make a name for himself as a paramedic."

Forceps snorted amusedly. "I wonder if there's any openings for racers," she quipped, dryly. "Because I don't see Lucy being tied down in a slow ground-based job for more than an orn or two, if she lasts that long." She flipped the magnifying lenses down over her optics and focused in on a microcomponent. "Maybe I should see if Envoy has any openings for global couriers. She'd make good time with that little teleport of hers."

"...if she doesn't get distracted by shinies on the way, I'm guessing..."

Over on the twins' berth, Footloose had tired of being patient. She growled and gave Slipstream a shove. "Hurts."

"Still dirty," her twin argued, pinning her down and using one of Ratchet's styluses to winkle the last few rinds of glue from her shoulder joint. "Got to make clean."

She endured the picking for another quarter of a breem before squealing more loudly, for emphasis, and giving him a kick in the midsection. "Hurts!"

Now was Slipstream's turn to yelp. "Ow_ow_, no fair!" He glared and jumped on her, pulling at her stubby antennae-

There was a very brief scuffle, then an "…uup!" noise from Footloose, an astro-second of silence, then a heavy _crump_ on the floor. Ratchet looked over, automatically, to find the berth now empty of both its occupants.

"Behave yourselves, you two," Forceps instructed, dryly, not bothering to look up. "No fighting in the infirmary or Ratchet'll kick you out."

Two little heads bobbed up from behind the berth, and two little voices said in unison; "yes aunnie Ausept." They were still shoving at each other, but it looked more playful than angry, now, and after a second or two of jostling they both vanished again, obviously up to some sort of mischief.

"Found stick-dots!" the little female squeaked, quietly. "Look, see? Was with glue!"

Slipstream clicked, curiously. "What to do with?"

"Show you!" There was the noise of something tearing – sounded like the adhesive strip sealing a package being opened – and a rustle of papers.

There followed in rapid succession the clunk of plating, then a squeak and a thump, and Slipstream's annoyed retort. "Lucy! Not to stick dots on!"

Footloose squeaked amusedly. "Seem got pink spot on face now. Is the zeesed!"

There was a growl. "No disease! Give stick dots!"

"No! Mine."

"Give!"

More crashing sounds emanated from behind the berth, and another tearing noise… then Footloose shot past, squealing excitedly, hotly pursued by her twin; both seemed to be clutching bits of brightly coloured paper, and Slipstream was reaching towards his sister with something blue in his hand, but they vanished (shrieking) into the corridor before either medic could see what they were up to.

"Those two are going to _destroy_ this place if they stay here much longer," Forceps growled, with a weary shake of the head. "I better apologise in advance."

"What makes you think Cybertron's going to fare any better? Some of the buildings there are a lot more antiquated than _this_ old warbird." Ratchet gestured around himself to imply the _Ark._

The surgeon wrinkled her lip, and deadpanned; "we've had longer to hide the breakables, and coat everything we _couldn't_ hide in triphase carbon armouring."

Ratchet laughed, openly. "Isn't that a little, you know... overkill, when it comes to sparkling-proofing the place?"

"You better come back to me on that one once you've had to polish a sparkling-sized dent out of your gamma-camera."

The comment was so very deadpan, Ratchet almost believed it. "Fair point," he chuckled, inclining his head. "On a more serious note," he mused, quietly, while they worked. "You've talked to them. What do you suppose will happen now?"

"_Happen_?" She glanced up, and her soft golden gaze met very briefly with the Autobot's considering blue. "What do you mean?"

"Well, right now we have three very lost ex-Cons trailing like confused little sparklings around the _Ark_, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if it remains as quiet as this for very long. Someone is going to end up getting a punch in the faceplates, and we'll end up with _everyone_ confined to quarters, and I don't really want it to be one of _my_ rabble that starts it, if you know what I mean."

She dropped her gaze and shrugged, in a calculatedly offhand manner. "I've been busy. I haven't really thought all that hard about it."

"Of course not."

She gave him a little glare.

"Regardless. I can tell you're worried about them."

"I'm more worried about how much work it'll take to keep them out of my operating theatre."

"I don't think it'll take much. Just threaten them with not fixing them, and they'll buck their ideas right up. They might even _behave._"

"Pssh," she snorted. "You give me far more credit than I should be due, Autobot."

Ratchet shrugged, one-shoulderedly. "Maybe," he accepted. "But they _do_ seem to like you. And trust you. The threat of 'their' medic not working with them any more? Primus forbid!" He pointed a stylus, in a way that _could_ have been construed as threatening. "Besides. Are you telling me you didn't see the way they both got in the way when _I_ suggested we took Thundercracker's wings off so we could repair them, but when _you_ suggested it a bit later, Skywarp even offered to help?"

"I think you have it the wrong way around. It's because he _doesn't_ like me, and _doesn't_ trust me not to do anything to his wingmate," she scoffed, but her words were without quite so much heat as usual. She almost sounded embarrassed. "You should have heard the accusations he heaped on me the last time I put one of them back together."

"Oh come on," he grinned, wryly. "A few accusations? That's nothing. _I've_ put those ungrateful fraggers back together once or twice, and the only thanks _I_ got was a shot in the back the instant they were back on their thrusters. They might be rude about it, but they're not exactly _slow_ to come to you if they need to be put back together." He sighed, softly. "I guess that there," he tapped her chest, "might be what makes the difference."

She followed the crimson finger, puzzled. "What does being green have to do with it?"

"The fact there's no little red symbol etched into it, that's what." Ratchet gave her an arch look. "I don't know. I guess… maybe they just trust that you're not doing it to prove a point, or to get leverage, or to use it as blackmail afterwards. There's no strings attached. I mean, if _I'd_ done it? They'd be wanting to know what I wanted from them in return. Pit, maybe they just _like_ you; Primus forbid a Decepticon could have _friends_, huh? That's just _ludicrous_."

She managed to find a wan smile from somewhere, for him, taking it in the humour it was intended. "You're going to miss them too. At least a little bit."

"I'm not going to miss the _noise_..."

0o0o0o0

Starscream's conversation with District Commissioner Boxer was very short; _yes, the offer still stands, when can you start? We'll discuss particulars when you get here. _

The former air commander hadn't yet vacated the communications office, however; instead, he'd just sat and stared at the blank viewscreen for five or six breems already, and Red Alert was getting… well, 'fidgety'. (Although it probably hadn't helped matters when Sideswipe jokingly suggested that the fallen Air Commander probably had a subspace linkup into the security chief's personal files and was even now rifling through them for juicy gossip.)

"Starscream?"

Optimus' voice bumped the smaller mech rudely out of his introspection. He glanced up, and for a moment or two just stared, mutely, before bullying his vocaliser into a reluctant, scratchy co-operation. "What?"

"Is everything all right?" Optimus coaxed. "You finished your call a while ago, now-"

"-and your chief of security wants his sanity back, I know, I know." Starscream dropped his glare back onto the control panel. "Well, he can get in line behind me. I think I deserve a bit of sanity more than he does."

Optimus chuckled, quietly. "I think _everyone _needs a little time to get their thoughts back in order," he agreed, softly. "Have you decided on what course of action you're taking?"

Starscream nodded, just the once. "I'm taking them home," he explained, at last, after weighing the decision to speak for almost half a breem, and his voice was low. Almost _hollow_. "Back to Cybertron. There's nothing here for us, any more." Beat. "And if we're going to self-destruct, better to do it in private than in full view of _your_ lot."

"They're that bad? Skywarp looks… not so bad. I thought-"

"Well you thought wrong," Starscream interrupted, sharply. The sympathetic look he received in response got under his plating and made him glare, hitching his wings – it was as though the Autobot leader thought he was just over-stressed and over-reacting to nothing. "Warp's walking a fine line where he's equally likely to either pull up out of his emotional nosedive or crash and burn in the most spectacular fashion," he added, with a sour laughed. He briefly covered his optics with one hand, pinched the bridge of his nose and vented hot, stale air in a sigh. "Never thought I'd live to ever see _that_, but this smeltery seems to have brought out the worst in us, huh? As for TC, well… you've seen him. Good at hiding it, but the cracks are all there." He let his arms dangle loosely at his sides. "It's like he's been glued together with old engine grease, and he'll just… slide to pieces at any moment. I don't want him to go falling apart in public."

"You don't _have_ to take them home," Optimus offered, albeit softly, just in case anyone else was in hearing distance. "Not immediately, at least. We can offer a modicum of medical support. Energy. Resources."

"Still trying to get us to sign on the dotted line, eh, Prime?" Starscream found a dry, tired smile from somewhere. "You and I both know that's not going to work for longer than an orn or two." He shook his head. "Even in the unlikely chance your underlings _don't _object to you flinging care and attention at us, without asking for payment of some kind? There's got to be better places for recovering warriors to go than the middle of their former enemy's territory. Too many potentials for things to go wrong, here. And I don't want the less charitable sparks in your faction to decide it's best to kick us out the instant that Megatron comes calling for us."

"You think he might?"

"Maybe. Probably. What do _I_ know, any more. I'm the enemy." The red jet threw up his hands in semi-despair. "Just another target to shoot at. He let us go this time but I doubt he'll leave us in peace for long. Let's face it, it's worth making the effort to kill us to stop all that juicy information on the Decepticon inner circle getting out." He gave the Autobot leader a sidelong glance. "I'm surprised _you've_ not interrogated us for it, yet, to be honest."

Optimus inclined his head. "I'm sure the, ah, 'less charitable sparks' will insist I do, soon enough, once they're over the shock of having you three here," he accepted, honestly. "But right now, my concern is for your wingmates. If you want to provide us with information, I won't refuse it, but I'm not going to actively try and wrest it from any of you." His optics betrayed a vague smile from behind his mask. "Plus, you might be more likely to offer it to us if we don't heckle you, and I value information given freely much more than information given under duress."

The Seeker curled his lip in a sneer, but didn't comment on it. He pushed himself up out of his chair, with some amount of difficulty. "I suppose I'd better go and track my two idiots down before they get themselves in trouble."

"It may not mean much, coming from someone like me," Optimus said, softly, blocking the doorway just enough that the Seeker had to hesitate – and _listen_ – before he could leave the room, "but I'm sorry the war had to end this way for you. All three of you. Especially when there was a good chance you could have left it peacefully."

Starscream met his gaze, boldly, but it was plain in the sag of his wings and the muted crimson of his optics how exhausted he was. "Can't all be rainbows and energon candies, Prime," he drawled. "Eventually Primus gets up off his aft and deals out punches to deserving machines, and all you can do is keep your head up, and take it like a mech."

"You're suggesting you're deserving of all this?"

"It had to happen sometime. We've been on the 'bad' side and playing the odds for long enough." Starscream shrugged. "Your pet species would say it's 'karma'," he added, softly. "You telling me you're _not_ going to say 'I told you so'?"

"No, I'm not," Optimus confirmed. "I may not _trust_ the three of you any further than I can throw you – _yet_ – but that doesn't mean I take any pleasure from seeing you in these circumstances."

Starscream smiled, bitterly. _Always the optimist, eh, Prime?_ "I guess that's what makes you a leader, and me just a long-term pretender to the throne." His quiet words were brittle, humourless.

"I'm serious," Optimus commented, quietly. "You've got out, and got your brothers out, and although you've all suffered some damage, you're all alive and functioning. That's more than a lot of my brethren have been granted."

"Telling me I should be _grateful_, Prime?"

"No. Just telling you that you still have something to live for." The Autobot took a step back out of the way, but made sure his serious blue gaze held the tired maroon one for several more quiet moments, to ensure that his point got through. "Don't waste your chance, commander. I have every faith that you'll get your trine through this – you wouldn't have survived so long as Decepticons, otherwise. I just hope that when we next speak, it will still be on friendly terms."

Unexpectedly, Starscream was the one to break eye contact. "_I_ just hope we're all still alive and functioning, if and when we next speak."

When he finally tracked his wingmates down, it was to find Skywarp sprawled out on the couch in front of the television, thrusters propped on the low table in front, with his twins (strangely covered in brightly-coloured paper spots) curled up together in his lap, and a wingless, plastic-coated Thundercracker tucked up under his arm, snugged into his side, clearly needing to be close to his wingmate after so long kept apart from them.

Seeing Thundercracker looking so small and broken made his own wings hurt in sympathy. A fraction of a second of suspicion flashed alerts into his forebrain, until he remembered the medics saying they'd need to take the blue jet's wing remnants right off so they could attempt to rebuild them properly – the broken jet hadn't complained at all, which spoke volumes about his mindset. _Just… do what you like. I'm past caring. It doesn't even matter any more. _Skywarp took it more personally, as if on his behalf – _You keep your dirty Autobot hands off him!_ – and generally got in the way until a little group of small white shapes clustered around him and steered him away to talk to Pulsar for a while.

Skywarp had spent the rest of the orn in a stasis pod; his two meagre exposures to Pace hadn't done much damage at all, and he certainly got over the withdrawal easily enough on his own, but Starscream wanted him operating as optimally as possible, particularly given their uncertain future, and cooked up a story believable enough to persuade the claustrophobic flier into the little booth for a while. If nothing else, it'd help him stop _thinking_ for a while; the teleport seemed to be particularly wounded by the idea that it was his actions that had caused all this, and that if he'd been a little bit _smarter_, he'd have found them quicker-…

Frag it, they _all _needed to spend at least a cycle in there – as soon as he scrounged up a spare moment, Starscream himself was planning to get his poor tired cortex straightened out a bit. Fix up his firewalls, de-clutter his temporary memory stacks, purge all the file fragments that lurked in bad sectors. Much as he hated to admit it, the _Ark's_ main medical computer was better than the one on _Nemesis_, and this was going to be his last chance for Primus-only-knew-how-long to fix all the tiny vulnerabilities he knew lurked uncorrected his trine's systems.

At least Thundercracker had made a marginal smidge of improvement; he'd seen him and Pulsar sitting together on the berth in the medical suite, which had reassured him. Knowing that the little Policebot held no ill feelings towards him would at least help start to pick the blue Seeker's mood up out of the mill. Rumours of some kind of verbal spat between Thundercracker and Forceps had reached his audios, too, but last time he'd looked they seemed to be back on friendly terms, so he didn't pry.

For a few tired moments, Starscream just stood in the doorway and watched his little family; _you two better be worth it, or _I'm_ kicking your useless afts_. His head felt… tight, and not just because he hadn't had his turn in the pod. After all those hundreds of Vorns, chasing leadership of the Decepticons, with all the passion he could muster, to suddenly ditch that in favour of _these_ two? He sighed, tersely. It felt like… well, even with a job lined up for him to go _to,_ to keep his mind active and away from everything he couldn't have, he knew there was a fifty-fifty chance of him going completely crazy. Maybe he just had to think of this as his own faction. A little faction of three. Five if you counted Warp's troublemaking offspring. Perhaps the seed of something new and better. _Ha, take that, Megatron. I'll find a new source of fuel, good enough to get _all _our grounded trines back in the air, and we'll rebuild and snatch this world out from under your grubby groundling fingers. You don't even deserve to _fly_._

…_Because of course, you alone will succeed at the impossible, where thousands of equally-brilliant scientists down the ages have failed._ He snorted humourlessly at himself. _Yet another pipe-dream, wing commander? You'll go just as crazy with _that_ one. Find something _achievable_, for a change. Maybe getting your trine back to health is all you should be aiming for, right now._

No-one had noticed him, yet, and it looked like at least three of the four were dormant and recharging. Skywarp was the only one awake, and he looked like he was at best 'muggy', barely conscious. The news channel that the television was tuned to chattered quietly to itself in the background. Starscream sighed, tiredly, and plopped down on the floor close to Skywarp's thrusters.

Something jabbed him in the back of the helm, and he looked up to see Skywarp watching him, quietly, poking finger still outstretched.

"What?" the red Seeker challenged.

"What you sat on the floor for?"

"No room on the couch."

"I could budge up."

"I'm not sitting in your lap, Warp. The floor is fine."

Skywarp shrugged with one shoulder, careful not to disturb Thundercracker. "Your loss." Beat. "You spoken with Boxer, yet?"

Starscream nodded, silently.

"…and?"

"His offer stands." The dark head continued to nod, carefully, as if to convince its owner that he was making the right decision. "He just seemed… _disinclined_… to discuss it until we're face-to-face."

"Oh come _on, _it's gotta be a trick-!" Skywarp protested.

"That or a sensible precaution to take when you don't know how secure a communications channel is." Starscream gave him a little glare. "Or do you _want _us to be stuck here for all eternity, living off Autobot generosity?"

Skywarp backed down, mumbling self-consciously. He glanced down at his lap, and ran his fingers absently across Footloose's 'suntanned' winglets; she twitched, and curled a little better around her twin, but didn't wake. "No. I wanna go home," he confirmed, softly. "I just-… this whole thing sucks, Screamer. I'm tired of it."

"Tired of which bits?"

"Tired of _all_ of it. Tired of being useless. Just… kicked around for nothing." Skywarp sighed, hard enough for his wing leader to feel the hot air from his vents. "Used to have _some _kinda meaning, right? We were doing all this for a reason, not just… just… you know." His words trailed off.

Starscream remained quiet. That was the worst part of it – everything they'd struggled to achieve was for nothing. Cybertron was still derelict, still in terminal condition. All those noisy ideals they'd spouted about wresting control from the stagnating ruling classes, giving the planet back to the people, rejuvenating and renewing? Had fallen by the wayside in the name of the megalomania of a select few machines, himself included.

"And I _still_ didn't slagging manage to kill that stupid _pipeline_," Skywarp despaired, quietly, from behind. "I just… _left him _there. I figured-… I just-… I don't know what I figured." His wings sagged, defeated. "In case he was lying about Lucy, I guess I figured I could go question him some more. Then it all kicked off with that squishy and his bomb, and I forgot about him." Sigh. "All them chances I had to end it once and for all? And I _still_ fragged it up."

_Yeah, you did_, Starscream agreed, but didn't voice it. "If we're going back to Cybertron, he won't be able to sneak through the space bridge without someone noticing," Starscream reassured, although both knew they were thinking the same thing. _Well, he got _here_ without too much bother. _"We can monitor the Cybertron end ourselves. I'll try and bribe Prime to set up his own monitoring station, give us forewarning if anyone tries to sneak through." He forced a smile. "If we do ever see him again, you can have the honour of ending him."

0o0o0o0

It wasn't as if they really _needed_ the escort, when Starscream finally decided he'd tolerated the Autobots for long enough and the family ought to head for home, but they got one anyway, in the form of Optimus, a handful of nosey soldiers (who joined the group just to ensure that the Screaming One and co actually _left_), and Skyfire, for reasons known to himself. Thundercracker 'limped' his aerial way to the space-bridge, barely flight-capable but determined to get there, just to convince himself he wasn't too scared to do it. Vantage was watching and waiting for them; he greeted them cheerfully enough, grinned stupidly at Surefire and wiggled his fingers _hello_, and waved Hardline over to discuss getting past Shockwave.

"Starscream?"

The voice attracted the red Seeker's gloomy attention; he turned neatly on one thruster to face the speaker.

Skyfire held out his hand, hopefully. "Before you go, can we at least reconsider our stance?"

"Our _stance_?" Starscream sounded like he wasn't quite sure if he should be _confused_ or _outraged_. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

The big shuttle backed up a half-step, although he kept his hand out, hopefully. "I-I mean-… I'm sorry. Wounding your feelings was never on my agenda. I guess I was hoping that… someday you'd realise this war wasn't worth it, and it could all go back to how it was before, that we could try and pick things back up. I know it was naïve of me. I just-… don't want you to hate me, Star. Even if we can never be friends again, I just… I suppose I hoped we could be civil. Now we're not staring at each other from opposing factions."

Starscream stared at the hand for a very long time, fully aware that everyone was watching him, waiting to see what he was going to do. _Is a little privacy too much to ask for, you nosy bunch of glitches?_ "I don't know. Even civility seems too good for what you turned us into."

The shuttle averted his gaze.

"Everything I became," the smaller mech went on, softly, "was because of you. When you, you… flew off, and got yourself 'killed'? I struggled through. I survived the pit that was Kaon. I survived life as a Decepticon, always… _wondering_. And when ultimately I found you… you snubbed me. Couldn't push me away fast enough. You decided you'd rather be a glorified _drone_ than pick our friendship back up. And then you had the _gall_ to tell me that _you_ were willing to forgive _me_? For doing everything I had to do just to survive? With your death on my conscience?"

Skyfire's big wings had sagged. "Then I hope some day you'll find it in yourself to forgive me," he husked, softly. "I mean it when I say I regret… _everything_."

Starscream stared down at the larger hand for several very long moments, before turning away, silently, and rejoining his wingmates. "Come on, you lot. We're leaving." He spread his arms and waved them in front of him. "There's nothing left here for us…"

There was a ripple of indignance, from Autobots hurt on Skyfire's behalf – how _dare_ he, after everything you did for him! – but Skyfire smiled in spite of the hurt, and waved the concerns away, letting the ignored hand drop back to his side. "He didn't try and kill me," he reasoned, sadly, watching the pale wings vanish through the entrance to the bridge, "so it's a start."

Everyone knew he was lying, but no-one pushed about it.

"Hey, Vanner!" Skywarp hesitated just outside the perimeter of the torus. "You gonna come with, or what?"

Vantage unhooked his feet off the control console. "What?"

"I said, are you coming? Or are you gonna stay here, under Megs' thumb?" The teleport wrinkled his nose, as if to say what he thought of _that_ idea, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "We've got room for one more, if you wanna."

The silver groundling actually found a smile from somewhere – Skywarp wasn't sure he'd _ever_ seen the apathetic little mech wearing any expression except tired, downcurved ones of one sort or another, but then having Surefire's little hands on his shoulders probably helped. The femme was _supposedly_ staying as Deixar station's Earth attaché, but most people saw straight through the story to the _real _reason she wanted to stay behind. "Nah. Someone's got to guard this stupid thing, right? Call the alarm if needs be. You never know, one day, something _dangerous_ might actually come through."

"You know that'll only be if we ever elect to come back," Skywarp quipped, amusedly, stepping to one side so the rest of the police team could feed past him. "Which isn't likely. Horrible little dirt-ball. Hope I never have to see it again."

"I'll be the feeling's mutual," Vantage snerked back, thumbing his nose. "Besides." He hooked his feet back up on the controls, crossed his ankles, and winked, broadly. "It's not like I'm gonna get _bored…_"

Skywarp snorted, knowingly.

"…Anyway, where else would I get 'paid' for slacking off?"

"Front desk at the police station?" Hardline wondered, from a distance. "One of these days I'll work out how to motivate Whisper."

"I'll 'motivate' him for you," Skywarp offered.

Hardline lifted a finger. "Correction; I'll work out how to motivate Whisper _without sticking a gun up his exhaust pipe_."

"Pfft. From what I heard, he might _like_ that, anyway," Skywarp commented, finally turning away and ambling through the entrance onto the bridge, leaving only Thundercracker still standing outside.

"TC?"

The blue jet glanced back over his shoulder; Starscream was watching him from the entrance of the big transport device. "It's okay. I'm coming," he reassured, quietly. "Just... give me a second."

Starscream emerged a step or two onto the grass. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah." Thundercracker forced a smile. "Just... apprehensive." _Well, not just apprehensive, but Screamer didn't need anything else on his plate to have to worry about, right now._

"About going home?"

"About... all of it, I guess." He stared down at his smeary fuselage and tried not to think about the uncomfortable, ill-fitting silver wings on his back. "It's gonna be a big change."

Starscream managed a smile for him - faint, exhausted, but undeniably a smile - and closed his fingers on his brother's arm. "I know. But the trine is back together, and together? We'll prove we can do anything."

_~ End_

* * *

**A/N:**

…aaand that's it!

Sorry for the downer ending. I couldn't work out any other way around it. -_- But! SBM3 ("Future Tense") is in the works, so… watch this space, eh?


End file.
